Poetry

This was the pain through the window
in humility.
Cannot catch a break in rambling
rose,
arrying the dead crown of
a tryant.

The blindness makes
a presence.
People are bidding farewell
to the bloody son.

I want to come in death
now, after thousand years,
living in violence
of man.

The untouchable moon
was laughing.


Satish Verma