May I Say

Satish Verma

At ethnic moment 
on the moonfront, artless impressionists 
of parallel conflicts with anxious looks 
come to share the self realized truth 
of mangled uncertainties, 

watching your own dead body: 
small chicks huddle together for contemporary 
thoughts of violence-to kill or not to kill- 
humanity walks with bent head 
listening nothing: 

I am desperate, the moon was stone faced 
black holes bleed and throw the crystals 
of red light: dropp your pen and hold the death 
on doorway, morning wind was coming 
from the seaside: 

for dissolution of your ego, I would go for a long swim.