A Space, A Dot, A Line

The hesitant―
dawn cracks, as the
river of darkness squirms.

The moon―
was in last, to leave
the howling bank.

It looms large, a ―
brain-dead future. I think
I am forgetting my age.

You must face the
dying earth― sustained―
on prayers only.

This is the height
of dilemma. Why―
poems were hungry?

Satish Verma