STREET FIGHTING

Timeless pain and, 
painless time were two colors. 
On the canvas, 
I was spreading, to open the heart. 
Non-being touching the vast emptiness. 
Life on the moment, played the abstract music. 
Was it the fear of blindness? 

Indecipherable handwriting creates puzzles, 
my laments cannot read. 
Truth marches on my bones, 
dead bodies do not count. 
The interrupted meanings 
are taking their tolls. 
On the track, 
blueprints are fluttering. 

Whom do we complain? 
Foliage was without fruits 
and roots were dying. 
And land smelled of hurts, 
sweat and tears. 
Unbroken oaths and 
tools had disappeared. 
And street fighting 
had overwhelmed the crescent moon.

Satish Verma