Wilting

By: Satish Verma

WILTING

My midnight lamp burns
roses were wilting.

The house that divided the lives,
broken noses,
Red blemishes cropping up here and there
between tall grasses of arguments
Who came out with impunity ?

We fought like ravens on the street
for a piece of crumb.

Listening had stopped
learning had stopped
Age of knowledge was not discernible,

thoughts were back in centuries.
My eyes were damp,
faces were wilting.

Who goes first: question or answer ?
why do we celebrate ?
why do we grieve ?
I do not want to see him going
lone patriarch of light.
It is getting darker around the hills
My legs will giveaway
stars were wilting.

SATISH VERMA

Poetry
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