Poetry

While melting-down he was going to cheat
the death. So be it, bribing the inevitable.

In search of me, you and self, life was
coming to an end. Standing on sharp edge

he wanted to go back to beginning of era,
to try again his fear against coarse future,

to be versed in or not to cease, to yield
to the butchering-ground for salvation.

He did not want to pick up the droppings
now with butterfingers. Let there be a revolt

against the buyers of wallets. Gods have
left the caves and crowds are thinned out.

Prayerwheels are broken. Sky was overcast.
The morality heaves out of bush and steps

up to find a new crisis.


Satish Verma