Metaphysical View
Sitting between the knees,
I am being bathed by intense anxiety
and fear of harsh light.
A canopy of doubts
confronts the dignity versus anarchy
for a watchman
who will not dare open-
the vault of truth. A fatal
ire of imagination puts him
to dire need of salvation.
Was I moving from the wrong
side of history in my zodiac
to change the drooping eyelids?
Death opens my door for a shortwhile
and then walks away
after watching the transparencies.
•
The masks come and masks go.
Cracks do not disappear.
Either you destroy me,
or my inside will have
a singingbird,
closing the golden window.
The hardening of atereies.
Tension was rising
around the absence.
Who was the arbitrator
between dog and lamb?
The weather was ripening black currants.
poem by Satish Verma
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