A perpetual war between <br />frame and content feeds <br />the fire! <br />I step outside the house of thoughts. <br />The death begins the counting and <br />jasmines start crying. <br />I hear the over-worn desert <br />blowing the sand. <br />A raw stone throws up a sculpture. <br /> <br />Midnight knocks on the door were loud. <br />Rain was banging, moonlight drifts in. <br />The huge cloud outlines <br />the ceremony of deluge. <br />Abstract ideas have to be clothed again. <br />The naked truth stops the clock. <br /> <br />A proxy death shatters me. <br />I also die in a dome. <br />Night melts in hissing sounds, <br />time becomes a paper weight. <br />The splender of quartz cracks. <br />Demolition is complete <br />historical grief now takes over.<br /><br />Satish Verma<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/historical-grief/
