It comes suddenly like a flash,
in some intimate moment,
conception of fear.
Like budgerigars, petrified on the wall,
the cat below, scratching, jumping.
I am done.
Questions of life and death, right & wrong,
the continuous chatter of psychological dying.

The dust goes into the eyes.
we start playing the game.
Melancholic clouds. Cannot look straight.
Disillusions drips. Depersonification starts,
On the parched skin.
Wrinkles dig deep to collect the tears.
The ending, before it starts.

Arguments are dragging the conscience.
Hunger and knowledge staring at each other,
Unabashedly, and dying shadows making a kill.
Some one stakes a claim,
on heritage of purity, pulling the strings.
Freedom to act bleeds the heart.

Satish Verma