Tender Fall

This bonded fear bids for power, Will I destroy myself in valley of puppets ? War in dreams, of sins and morals of masked pretentions wears me off. Time rolls violently near the periphery, before it flies away. One chaste run to the shadow of sorrow burns you alive. Sitting on a heap of sandlewood you turn into ashes, the sweet aroma drifting between its rights and wrongs, evasions and commitments, hunting for the truth. Great exodus of principles in green martyrdom, brings out the blood from the color of terracotta. The figures on the walls start talking in falling light, de-icing the sun, like the dust on this side of dark. The violence rises again. SATISH VERMA