Conferred Guilt

A felled tear reflects the rainbow. I wait for the night. Moon had promised an audience. Yes, I will sit beside the moon, will tell the woes of earth, uncomplaining: the heat, the dust, the life needles and expressionless faces of trembling angels. The heroes were disrobing and attacking the pyramids of undoing. I sweat and reel in chilly mornings. A primitive instinct takes over the nightmare. The spoons become the swords. SATISH VERMA