Existential Plight

Satish Verma

Will not put any claim. 
Neonate my poem 
has gone gray. 

Black days and white 
nights.I will recall my 
ghost and ask, O god- 
do you exist anywhere? 

A thread of pain, makes 
a family of feet, climbing 
in smoke. 

Vulnerable to theft, my 
thoughts divert me towards 
cemetery, where I will 
bury my sins. 

You remained a question 
for me on calender date.I 
will hold on the time, 
which has thrown me back.