A fugitive chameleon sits on my window sill
daily, ceding the space horizon to thickness
of delusion; wants to decimate the infamous
rotting image of man, shining everyday in lush
fucking gossips. A perfect imperfection of treachery
to attack the hapless blade of grass who cannot
stand erect in a gale of glory of tall trees.
The star-glint overwhelms a prophet of dust.
A goddess enters the labyrinth of anthologies.
The smile that sets to sail a thousand slogans-
flies from infinity to the branches of flesh.
And the rivals collapse like dark alchemy
without qualms, naked and speechless.
Satish Verma
No comments:
Post a Comment