It Is Absurd

Folder: 
Satish Verma

After the sunset, 
the moon comes out whitewashed. 
An extremist flies a hawk. 

The bird's meet was 
disbanded. There was no 
mandate to decide the fate 
of eggs. 

I cannot think. After the 
arrest of an anarchist the cauldron 
was left to boil. 
The bones start melting. 

Step out from the dark. 
The blind men were protesting 
in the street against the sun. 

It is a small world. 
You meet me again and again.

fuche_bu's picture

sounds like an intense

sounds like an intense situation.  The imagery of the anarchist in the cauldron is stark.  I like this poem.