Eyes Like Flints

Satish Verma

A streak of sin, 
just as culpable, 
gives back my pains. 
A half-finished poem 
jolts me out of my vision. 
Someone drops the moon― 
and becomes evident in mist. 
A profile floats. I 
imagine the spreading smile. 
I want to understand myself. 
The colors blend. Have 
you read Rilke? You will not 
rise from the surface of― 
life and death. 
Authenticity has become 
rarer. Copyright to kill is 
religion. An aquiline nose 
smells the prey.