STUMBLING

Disaffection 
brings out, the black fever. 
Stars will chart the inky path. 

It was too close 
the brazen attack 
on sacred rites. 

Prejudice 
of contents was besides, heavy. 
I am going to flee from spaces. 

You become a fodder 
of white ghost. 
Your shadow cleaves in water. 

Below the bridge 
hangs a tale. 
The river had received phosphorescent bodies.

Satish Verma