STUMBLING

Disaffection
brings out, the black fever.
Stars will chart the inky path.

It was too close
the brazen attack
on sacred rites.

Prejudice
of contents was besides, heavy.
I am going to flee from spaces.

You become a fodder
of white ghost.
Your shadow cleaves in water.

Below the bridge
hangs a tale.
The river had received phosphorescent bodies.

Satish Verma



Poetry by Satish Verma
Read 442 times
Written on 2010-07-31 at 04:50

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