Not A Noble Thing

Satish Verma

Poetry of vengeance. 
This was not any pulverized 
version of new memes, the 
digital eating 
of the truth. 

We are not moving at all. 
A hidden rope becomes a rattler, 
frightens you from the 
narcissistic stupor. 

Every day a scam erupts. 
The veil remains intact, but the 
undercurrent explores the path 
to kill you. 

There was no music left in 
legs. A black window jumps 
over the fence. A sharp 
sting brings the angina.