STARS WERE BLACKENING

Black fire was furtively raging 
after the massacre of moon. 
I still stood with feet of clay 
to experiment with my lies. 

Bare neck hanging, something 
has to be done, to make a gift 
for the sake of truth, walking alone 
without an effort. 

I suddenly realize the illusion 
and fail miserably in a perverted manner, 
make a mockery of the death trap 
in a hospital of thumbs 

down, to roll the carpet.

Satish Verma