Smiling Buddha

A rapt moon was listening a tale of two murders. Across the caste, fingernails were digging in to give – a putsch to darkness, unhappened in vain. A word tears into the untouched pain and I bleed for the golden birds. Can you transcend an apparition alighting on impermanence ? Time was brewing a revolution of untold jokes. Death moves in a circle to negotiate peace with unknown. Skies were indifferent bidding farewell to cracks of dawn. Satish Verma