MAY I SAY

At ethnic moment 
on the moonfront, artless impressionists 
of parallel conflicts with anxious looks 
come to share the self realized truth 
of mangled uncertainties, 

watching your own dead body: 
small chicks huddle together for contemporary 
thoughts of violence-to kill or not to kill- 
humanity walks with bent head 
listening nothing: 

I am desperate, the moon was stone faced 
black holes bleed and throw the crystals 
of red light: dropp your pen and hold the death 
on doorway, morning wind was coming 
from the seaside: 


for dissolution of your ego, I would go for a long swim.

Satish Verma