Wet Landscape
A saddened rain drop
strikes me at the face.
When town is burning,
its dignity confronts me with force.
A human clone rises
like a smoke from the ruins
of our nerves.
Why the love has evaporated
from our hearts?
In new spread of palaces,
upside down roots grow with regrets.
The dark woods depart,
small grasses peel off.
the wounds of earth.
Tomorrow the half glory
of our greed will be exhibited
and leaves will burn.
Now a clearing has been made.
Sun smiles, bakes the bones.
The water of life
has been denied to us.
Beaming technology buries the classical path,
the book and the eros.
The wet landscape cries.
SATISH VERMA
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