1 january 2024

poetry

Satish Verma
Satish Verma

The Walls Are Rising

I am selling my age.
Going stone in market. Honestly
I have exhausted my thoughts.

Midnight syndrome begins.
The salt of my lips had disappeared.
A cruciform face hangs in the air

IS this inertia of the brain?
I am conscious of the yellow moon.
Howling of the wolves will start.

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