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SECOND SIGHT

What was the prophecy of
a slow moving floating name?
To hang a spy from the beam?
Your face lits up.

The world was translating
the labate grief into small mirrors.
A seed explodes. A magnetized
book of conduct is slapped on your face.

And you start reading the script
in darkness in a beautiful retreat.

The approaching night engulfs
the moon. An anonymous fear
takes hold of this moment before
disappearing in an abyss.

You stoke a desire to collect
the immortal blues and headless clues
and we crawl on the sands of time
breaking the silence by our drones.

Submitted: Friday, April 05, 2013
Edited: Thursday, October 10, 2013


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Comments about this poem (‘CROSSING THE BAR' ONCE AGAIN... by Satish Verma )

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  • Aftab Alam Khursheed (4/5/2013 8:14:00 AM)

    Very nice poem sir, This poem deserve voting and I will do Very nice ease to the heart

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