There was a pattern
half truth was inversely igniting
the attachment to death.
and the other half was changing discreetly.
A malevolent hand strikes off the name
from blackboard. Guest will not arrive,
wait was over.
It was a moonless night,
By evening red rains will come
like thousand thoughts;
something wild will appear in his hands,
he would start smashing the stars.
When clouds dispersed, a half burnt
body was found on railroad track.
It was a blacksmith building the bridge
on the sinful blasts.
SATISH VERMA
