REHABILITATING MYSELF

How much honest you were
while climbing the stairs,
to inherit the shame of century,
invoking the remains?
A hip will not move for the voidance.
A notch below, the
exhumation will prove the Taser
attack, stunning the history.

Let us sit and take over tea
under the depressed moon, pondering
on the nature of man. When
you reach the top, you become
a lesser rich. Groping the lonelier
grief of poverty, I become
more humane. The water swells
very often, I see the world
now by closed eyes.

I walk with my shadow shrunk
under my feet. I become
the world.

Satish Verma