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
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