Verities

The moon was moving stealthily in wilderness. Time was running out tracing the shape. I let her go, the comely thing, putting on hold, the teetering poem. Running faster than light, the words catch you in midstream. A warlord wants to put on a helmet in night. It was raining sparks and cinders. You walk along the redoubts, obliterating simmering footsteps. I am not a loser dancing in the pit of snakes. Bring the sweetness of venom. I am alive. Satish Verma