Unexisting

A fugitive moon 
appeared, after the blaze of the sun, 
in a frozen standoff, 
died.

My room was dappled 
with pale moonbeams shadows, 
nestled on the? 
blue walls.

There was a constant drumbeat 
coming nearer. He wanted 
to quit. You cannot change 
the legacy of dark rooms.

A manhunt must start 
for the thief who stole away 
all the voices of 
a departed soul.


Satish Verma
Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

Poem

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace