CONFERRED GUILT

A felled tear reflects the rainbow. 
I wait for the night. 
Moon had promised an audience. 

Yes, I will sit beside the moon, 
will tell the woes of earth, uncomplaining: 
the heat, the dust, the life needles 

and expressionless faces of trembling 
angels. The heroes were disrobing and 
attacking the pyramids of undoing. 

I sweat and reel in chilly mornings. 
A primitive instinct takes over the 
nightmare. The spoons become the swords.

Satish Verma