29 november 2021

poetry

Satish Verma
Satish Verma

After The Sunset

Night was young.
Shameless moon
wanted to talk to me.

Will do what―
I was not supposed to do,
holding back the tears.

We had killed
ourselves with indelible scars
for a puppet show.


Reddish-yellow
rind of bloody orange in
the eyes of severed head.

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