SUNRISE

The decline was steep. 
Somewhere the clouds burst in tears. 
Sitting on the flat prejudice 
we weaved a gift of poison for everyone. 
It did not stain our shirts. 
The big fat people moved about 
with great confidence to change the world. 
I suffered inwardly. 

Perhaps the greed drank 
from our passions. 
A spectre of hounding. 
Which never stopped. 
My parents knew better, 
always talked of comportment. 
Llike our love for neighbours. 
The turmoil drifted now in our hearts. 

A self-potrait became 
the vehicle of death 
I visited myself, 
to wind up the matters of concern. 
The graffiti on the abandoned 
walls of memories erased 
time, altered the wounds, 
and trembling shadows. 
Sunrise will provide me a lesson.

Satish Verma