A lead goes nowhere,
a ladder, a snake, bloody steps;
a city mourns, while blackened walls
of a house search its owner.
Shadows of grainy straws move
under the eyes. Scent of nails bites
bronze silence. Sips of cold statements
for parched lips.
Everything was hunger bound. Eyes on
walnut chair: snow flakes of grammar,
this time the monarch does not speak,
only brown skin wakes the fear.
Learning to listen intensily, inner voice,
time caresses the feathers of forgetfullness.
Satish Verma
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