THE GLASS HOUSE

Not yet, the courage will wait 
for the curtain to fall, 
will then disappear in awakening; 

the crucial thing 
was the love of absence 
the scythe of eclipsed moon. 

Suspense hangs from the tall image 
in slow turn of thighs 
lips reach the galaxies: 

the first cry of new born 
pleads guilty, 
whispers will never be the same. 

My fault, the animal’s feet 
carry the burden of the straw, 
words brought the grief. 

In a triangular fight 
my son, my god, my father: 
I stand in the center!

Satish Verma