FAIRY RINGS

Immensity of deviation was exploding. 
Abruptly my frail frame collapsed. 
I did not know the answers. I was lost 
in my inner sanctum, full of hollow escapes. 

The ugly ‘ism’ was devastating. Not in, 
not out. I was blowing up in a burnt out moon, 
pure as sin, prodding, writhing, 
stuck in tar, melting in hot sun. 

As a projection of inner violence, a psychopath 
shoots an innocent on the temple, forsaken, revengeful. 
No qualms for grazing the godhood, 
the voice of sanity remains sitting on a toad stool. 

The fairy rings are growing larger and larger, 
sanaria shrinking. Epileptic paranoia overpowering 
outside, I am sick, but relentless, the shadow disappears 
in valley, down the memory. I let go the blurred spirit, 
in a fit of rage, standing alone.

Satish Verma