Poetry

Did you foresee it? It was coming.
The freaked guilt of failed attempt
to get yourself kissed by a flame in the
androgynous temptation of dark.

One legitimate delay in dying of moon's
tears? The weather had fizzled out during wild
winds and the summer was slowly starting a
whispering campaign against the clouds.

My enemy for sweet revenge will not
halt the attack.A bouncing vision will
start the fire engulfing the singing
trees of drenched art. The floods of intimatcies
were coming.


Satish Verma