BROODING END

For the bird, 
I knocked the cage to set it free. 
My tryst, 
with a nightmare begins. 
It was me, dismembered 
in sour death 
where sorrow meets the sorrow. 
Now rising, now falling, the delicate frame 
on unseen wings 
beneath the stars, above the moon. 

The killing circle 
of trampling wishes takes you nowhere. In cubicles 
you are lost, recycled. The theme of projecting yourself 
looks straight in your face. What next? 
The time infects you mercilessly. Vaguely 
you become aware of imminent chaos. 

The hollow drums will beat endlessly.

Satish Verma