Theme: Life


In ascending numbness 
you can think clearly at night 
and see the half-moon throwing 
the silhouettes in dim light. 
I suffer in my poems, 
foretelling of a sinking flame 
insulting the roots. 
The rising failure, like visitation 
of Icarus shooting from the surface 
in pain. An answer without questions 
erupts wearing a death-mask. Was 
it a speculation of claustrophilia 
carrying a prism? The marbled 
globes are melting. The danger 
was evident, 
you can smell it. 


More By  :  Satish Verma

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