Theme: Life


A relative lie, 
becomes the truth. 
Will you meet me, on the 
cobbled street, where the gospels 
are cowering in terror; 
to find the style. 

Becoming; to be a void. As if 
I was not there. Unpetalled, 
the ovary will ask 
the bees to land immediately 
on open mouths. 

From the veiled moon, 
comes a stifled cry. 
Do not collect the peaches.


More By  :  Satish Verma

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