The Finale

Sometimes horizon roams with moon I pluck the stars night drizzles from the dark clouds. A shadow falls on the door without struggle or rumor I know he has come, my guest the survivor of genocide. He has come a long way a message on his parched lips he rubs hands. Inferno he says. Holocaust he murmurs. It is here again, whole world is under siege. He tells me, do something for the grass. Ask your god to come back from domes. SATISH VERMA