COUNTING

When you were rolling in dust, 
a puritan said, truth was me. 
It was getting dark in Himalayas. 

Black words, black themes. 
You have started a journey in daylight 
in a hot desert of fear. 

Tormented, because of the heat 
of arguments. Mimicry makes you sick. 
Mocking birds fly straight for lofty peaks. 

Self-denial was hurting sometimes 
against copious rewards and generous handouts, 
like pinned on a totem. 

The happening must start 
with hidden promises of price.

Satish Verma