After a grand design
there was a white leap
to find a boat in darkness.

Time was dusting the frame
of memory, and the age
will grieve for the lost vision.

The pace of assaults will
increase over the burning windows.
This was my priviledge.

The tongue tastes a superbug.
Some celestial entity, guideless
but ready to rub on the flame.

Here lies the moon of beaten stars.
Nothing was terrible
in greasing the naked groom.

Satish Verma