THE DEBRIS

Give me the whole 
of a fragment, 
I am standing on a frozen lake 
of inadequate compassion. 

The totality of implications frightens. 
Look deep in my eyes 
you may find the plumage 
of the green peacocks. They are gone. 

Walk on the burning coals 
to perceive actuality. Life slaps the illusion. 
Debris falls from a shooting star, 
overwhelming the clouds. 
Rains will not come now for a while. 

History heaps few glares 
on the spinning darkness. 

The theater runs for an empty house.

Satish Verma