NAVIGATING

One crisp scaffold. 
Was it possible that it became generous? 
For the street which turns 
the mutation into xenograft. 

I pretend to be which I am not 
for fear of dying daily or sleep no more 
in the lineage of hope. The gallows 
are set on every corner. 

I walk behind blackness to hear 
the steps of moon in exile for vindication 
of sober sins against the sky. The blue 
souls were going to release the verdict. 

Without rejecting the will to count the stars.

Satish Verma