INCONTINENCE

Let me change the contours of life, 
polluted mind-set. 
Spider webs have 
elective sites of emotions. 
I want to open a new range, 
to locate the corrupt moments. 
Turn over your face, 
let me find the scars. 

The soaring pinnacle, 
fatherless fame, were declining. 
The rot was setting on 
the fresco of the wall. 
Aspiring for god-head 
they have choked the fluiting. 
Hands and eyes are cadaverous, 
unmoving. Sun is burning very hot. 

Not tomorrow, 
today we have to bid farewell 
to neutral day. 
Life will not spare the casting. 
Too much mist 
has settled on the eyes, 
raining madness on the road. 
Month and years 
are giving incontinence.

Satish Verma