TENDER RAGE

After the weep there was blankness, 
then he started playing with fire 
for existence, of a rain 
which refused to shower. 
It was a fierce night of a hidden drought. 

A lethal dose of amnesia 
dissipates the calmness of a hangman: 
waiting to cut the cord of resistence: 
moon will spy on the cold-blooded 
murder of a white ego. 

This was the aftermath of the soaring 
food prices of soul songs. People were mowing 
the tall grasses of dialects, sensing 
the wind, onslaught of gathering storm. 
Morning sky was pale and withdrawn, full of sorrow. 

The dignity calls for the last prayer 
for a lesser portrait!

Satish Verma