SPLITTING

Touched by moon, I pick up
a black rose,
to return the debt.

Very high
the fire, returns in my eyes.
I start burning in your arms.

The parting,
crawls in the bed
I cannot speak nor cry.


Why it had to happen
after sunset,
when the leafless tree was waiting?


Satish Verma



Poetry by Satish Verma
Read 405 times
Written on 2010-05-26 at 07:28

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