From the ramparts of a castle
a wallflower jumps.
A lynch mob discovers a prehistoric sex.
Silent roots crossing the deniability
endorse a fluid dynamics
of a scandal.
The fascination of a fairy tale makes
a lover seek the revenge.
He hates, he strikes, but fails to impress
the horizon beyond the galaxies.
Black laughters of fake seers
make an entry to plunder the stars.
A tremor in the voice betrays
the ambushed faith.
Now where to go, find the peace of death?
Time’s white hands are snarled in pain;
cannot write the elegant script
of surrender.
Satish Verma
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