Question Of Fear Poem by Pinaki Dewan

A fylfot has found its way
into the zenith; the peril
of having a finicky faith:
the apostles of imposition.

Strangeness has bogged down,
come up against a blank wall;
I wait for the Bethzatha to move,
reach the parched faces of all.

The jail of Rome never broke,
the earthquake was a vision;
Lydia's house: emptiness,
David's house falling infinitely.

They have tears that don't glisten,
they have died to be;
if their wyrd weren't closed,
they'd have turned from thee.