Second Sight

What was the prophecy of a slow moving floating name ? To hang a spy from the beam ? Your face lits up. The world was translating the labate grief into small mirrors. A seed explodes. A magnetized book of conduct is slapped on your face. And you start reading the script in darkness in a beautiful retreat. The approaching night engulfs the moon. An anonymous fear takes hold of this moment before disappearing in an abyss. You stoke a desire to collect the immortal blues and headless clues and we crawl on the sands of time breaking the silence by our drones. Satish Verma