Satish Verma
In Transition
The end of night had left
a bloody trail―
of the fading moon.
Love erupts with
a pang. I love the privacy
of dark niches.
Life begins to write about
the bare pricks. I start
paying my debts of wounds.
A canary leaves me
bleeding whenever I ask
it to burn with me.
In flames go my
dreams when I invite the
sun to sleep with me.
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