Residual finger pointer in an in-haunting,
instigator of an instigator taunting.
Infiltrator with sash of tendriled gas, or is it dust
feeling in lusts, zealing a fingering,
to find either it's way.
An agent of Death, of
imitation facsimile of breathe, stoked signature remains in imagery epiphany of
black characature spiritus blankus obscenity_uttereth
curse-ino-Djin.
Fingerprinting the wind, in it's rust
To steal it's identity particulate-dissipation, or 'bust
I see a swirl of lose ends
urging me to tie them together
Like taking a trip
along the Milky Way
of Illusion
I see fingerprinting eternities
ravaging the Hourglass of Man
Through these areas
of Space uncovered
by my Third Eye
"The Great In-Between"
Oh jolle
vision green
shining
black feather-framed
emeralds
spilling over
the mask’s rim
walls fall while
Jericho doors close
lockdown
unravels
like a mind ribbon
travels
through words
swimming in
an ocean like
tadpoles
growing
tales
evolving
through
the singing hooks
in the mouths
of whispering
phantom poets
listening
with the
eyes
and
mind
fingerprinting
tomes
glowing
embers
pages along the path
with a legion
of tall poppies
marching strident
and barefoot
over broken glass
like the leaves
falling
from
tall stories
still standing
stalwart trees
basking with
winged warriors
strange angels
all forest creatures
in Blue Sky’s Light
sometime soon seen
In the Great In-Between
(LadyLabyrinth/ 2021)
"Looking through the looking glass
All that seems won't ever last
Broken glass in every tree
Natural I never see
Slipping through my fingertips, like sand
Slipping through my fingertips, like sand"
It slides stealthily in you, the fear
shifting the blame, stoking to run. He said
the wolves are coming. I heard a wailing
sound across the black wall,
I hate you, I hate you. He was crying
and shouting. Why were you so good to
me, why did not you hit me? He started
throwing stones on jasmines –
and then hanged himself with a shoe
lace. Fingerprinting the DNA was inconclusive.
Senseless incarceration, a hidden paranoia,
a tormented soul arrested under the canopy.
Heights, yes heights were responsible for the
fall, for the hurt, for the pain. Could not
stay fearlessly for a long time. Perfection
was the watchword.
Death was the peace.
SATISH VERMA
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