The Holy Man
There was a cryptic message
about a demise at the roof top
of a tree.
Blue sky would whip it up to a cock
on an ornate cloud of an ego
for a free fall from the moon.
Give leverage to the silence of a cudgel
to uproot the bristle from a face
of a fear; there was an ominous warning.
Ancestors of jar will pour out the honey
on emptiness of a truth
about the fiction of a planet.
Nose for nose, battle was on,
between tank and toe,
hand and pen.
SATISH VERMA
Copyright © Satish Verma | Year Posted 2010
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