Pebbles In the Pond

A crooked slanting moon shifts the eye comes under the chaste tree and washes the tainted victory. Wolves start howling at the tomb of unknown martyr, man-eaters recoil on the sugar island and talk about destinies, A mourning crowd walks repudiating the death; one day nuances of an ode will thaw the delta in disbelief. The Delphic attitude of a translucent murder narrates the wisdom of sadness which cannot propel the blood stained light. SATISH VERMA