PEBBLES IN THE POND

A crooked slanting moon 
shifts the eye 
comes under the chaste tree 
and washes the tainted 
victory. 

Wolves start howling 
at the tomb of unknown martyr, 
man-eaters recoil 
on the sugar island 
and talk about destinies, 

A mourning crowd walks 
repudiating the death; 
one day nuances of an ode 
will thaw the delta 
in disbelief. 

The Delphic attitude 
of a translucent murder 
narrates the wisdom of sadness 
which cannot propel the 
blood stained light.

Satish Verma