Poetry

Sometimes lurking in corner.
Sometimes tumbling down
endlessly,
and sometimes with frozen smile
immolating oneself
before an idol to be.

He danced imprisoned in a glass case
whole life.
Overcoming the pretentious inhibition
to stand naked in dimlights
of arguments.

He started a dialogue
about the disquietening habits
of killing each other with sharp tongues.
I said death and life are two suggestions
worth consideration. A clump disdain in between.

The birds are circling again in sky.
Someone is going to die.
Avians knew the travesty of existence.
Question of self praise
ultimately drowns
in melody of being.


Satish Verma