DARKNESS AT NOON

Tousling the opulence was 
not modesty. 
Who will adore the clan? 

I am not yet ‘me’, 
the refuge of elevated moon. 
The heat and dust of nascent money 

was burning like a loud prayer 
in dark sun. Perfection tends 
to terrify the stings. 

A mogul of arts outlines the 
script of drowning a desert storm, 
when two flames went to bed. 

Do not pick up the nails for 
the coffin of a martyr. 
They are going to make a dirty bomb.

Satish Verma