Poetry

Disaffection
brings out, the black fever.
Stars will chart the inky path.

It was too close
the brazen attack
on sacred rites.

Prejudice
of contents was besides, heavy.
I am going to flee from spaces.

You become a fodder
of white ghost.
Your shadow cleaves in water.

Below the bridge
hangs a tale.
The river had received phosphorescent bodies.


Satish Verma