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 492 times
Written on 2010-05-26 at 07:28

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text