Truncated by Satish Verma SignUp
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Theme: Life Share This Page
Truncated
by Satish Verma
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  A midnight craft 
dumps the moon 
on a heap of deceits. 
I ask my sap to turn back for truism. 

It was a question of spacing 
between the bodies 
in scapegoats; 
coming for slaughter. 

A scale measures the depth 
of defeats. The hands 
were busy in mending the 
walls of psychiatric ward. 

Have you ever tasted a white 
poison, sweet in taste? 
When you grow old, you will 
look like your father. 

The name which was absent 
in calendar, was found everywhere.
Share This:
March 17, 2013
More By: Satish Verma
Views: 563      Comments: 0




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