THE DEMOCRACY

With stoicism writ on face 
I invite the chisels 
for giving birth to a dialogue 

between me and the shaper. 
Where did the things go wrong 
in making the life a simple page 

to write a beautiful poem? 
Buddha give me a bo-tree or an interlocutor 

who invents skin, teeth and eyes 
of a failing system. The command 

has gone to unknown robots. They were 
manipulating the atrophied 

limbs of high-tech generation 
who do not know the pathless love 
when we walk into the moon, 



Satish Verma