satishverma

MOCKERY

Entering into deathless trance 
the moon was galloping across the clouds, 
clad in blue winds, 
for a spiritual encounter with the sky. 

A saint in making, 
a grandson of god, 
retreats in a religious retreat 
to taste a forbidden pain of separation, 
without surface love. 

In a see-through transparency 
the arrogance juts out 
parting the tall grass of the assault course. 
The prophetic self-absorption will decide the destiny. 

The segregation of caste had ultimately 
blossomed. Matter is generating energy. 
Cosmos of a single dewdropp reflects in sun 
The dry loaves are thrown on the street.

Satish Verma