THE RED ROCK...

Give me some time 
to live, with the possibility 
of oscillating between temporal and spiritual feel. 
I have already exhausted my age 
behind the spiked doors. 

I was longing 
to meet myself today, 
to find the throw back. 
Which of me was real? 
An antique bird feeding on honeydew? 
Or a honed up desert hurricane? 

A tremendous impact with retribution 
pulls down the unbowed towers. 
But the spirit screams in dark 
and a light glows from the debris 
true to seal the kisslock of death. 

The century will still march forward 
arranging the years in neat rows 
at burial ground of memory. 
The walls are still standing.

Satish Verma