ABDICATION

It was a domestic pain, 
when we came apart in boots and helmets. 
Taking the shine away, moon gave up the fight 
on lake, against the clouds, a sniper 
intuitingly, started a homicidal blasting 
to start the rains. 

An ode to sepia needs scrutiny; 
cuttlefish had a second thought. No faith 
permits the slaughter of septa. Walls were squinting 
to see better. A square root will find the squall, 
between the breaths. Beyond arousal of oceans 
a shaken, surreal, blast from a craven rifle. 



Satish Verma