Tide

by : Satish Verma



The past and the street
were reaching nowhere.
Existing as long as the dust flies.

Mansions were imploding with great noise
A terrible end of a whistling
enclave.

The new age had begun
of molten glacier s
flooding the warm noons.

A new version of genocide is coming.
Earth, do not cry for fallen trees.

A fresh road - map is ready
for the junior breed,
who will strut the globe with vengeance.

Fear will stalk the virtue,
the space, the depth.
what is happening to tide ?

SATISH VERMA