Matter Of Fate Poem by Satish Verma

While ascending throne,
you cover up your tracks―
by putting up the somber demeanor.
I don't find myself happy.

No stings visible. The world
is savagely beautiful, always
indulging in finding a goat.
Can you see through a person?

Wooden legs cannot take you very―
far. What you need was your intent,
to scramble and make a kill
of a subtone.

The crowd goes in a tizzy.
Tortoise in a bag, was moving
faster than the man.