GALAXY OF FAME

When you try to find fire 
in edifice of whispers, 
you are badly singed, 
the wronged truths demand scrutiny. 
Fabulous smoke settles 
on false statements. 
The tunneled thoughts sway. 

Epithets rise and plunge 
in clefts of chastity, 
remedying for sorrow and grief, 
for death and pain. 
Between us what has been left of truth? 
Life had been a travelogue of designs, 
inwardly we all are burned out. 

I am frightened. 
The probing must be painful, 
conclusions will finally 
dissect the superlatives. 
Gloved hands will become visible, 
which killed the innocent sparrows 
in the galaxy of fame.

Satish Verma