A Nightmare

by Satish Verma

The system aborts.
(Multiple organ failure)
A deviant art
of dying pompously.

I wish, I was on a
moving floor, sailing
without a walk, looking at
the camouflaged ceiling.

The shrill voice of a whistle?
Blower, mimics an opera.
I will snatch the words,
raw, from your lips.

It was here, in absence.
Your poesy, matter-of-factly.
Can you raise your voice
against the fall of the thing?

16-May-2014

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