Musing 198 Poem by shuvo chakraborty

Those who are asking for moon
Will swindle the axis of earth at night
With fingers crossing hiding the stars.
They are born not out of moral terpitude
But from rudiments of volcanic outlook
To assimilate the dark specters behind the sun,
Souls standing on fringe of honest glacier
Will be carried away by the melting deluge
Towards the isolation of empiric void
Where bats are catering consolations
generic.