Fading Sheen

Satish Verma

My little dirty moon, 
why were you hiding― 
when the vulture-poems had 
an uncanny similarity with 
raging road show? 

The volatility would not exit. 
It rises in flames to make 
a big black hole in the sky. 
Sometimes I hate you, 
sometimes I, love you, 
my elusive, beautiful karma. 

At night when I disappear 
what poem you will read? 
In fast-running stream, your 
croaking will not be heard. 
Try to begin a dance of democracy.