The Fall
Like a candleless night
the silence raises its voice
outstretching the hypercorrectness of a moon
standing among the walking trees.
You are at war with yourself, a modicum
of transparency.I disremember the name
of ancient lawbreaking.
My father climbs the tree to reach his home.
I saw him giving signs not to return.
A sack is thrown of mangled truths
to build a cage of screams. And the hazy
morn starts shedding the veil to become
a legend of regrets.
Satish Verma
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