Theme: Life

Perception

Lips of clay tend to bleed
my kisses.
And the distant moon treads
softly on the spent passion.

A private crimson
blunts the whiteness of moon.
The birds
step out from the fog.

Last moments -
of the bell to announce
the schizophrenic flesh
sailing like snowflakes.

A primordial fear -
was destroying the profile of man.
Here it goes
the spiritual enigma.

A blast
of stunned silence:
I am collecting pebbles
from the trees.

20-Jan-2013

More By  :  Satish Verma

Views: 1420     Comments: 0


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