Poetry

Was it a spriritual failure of a man
to become an animal effortlessly?
and how difficult it was
to change the street’s crowd?

In the human drama
no dialogue ends. It begins again
and the hero replays the tragedy.

The fight between one versus many
continues endlessly,
like jungle’s law
where a body is thrown to beasts.

Though I have run out my steps
I will count the miles, I have to scramble.
My hands tremble when I write the
epitaph of a dying light on mount.
It is getting dark now.
Saturn will shortly rise.


Satish Verma