Satish Verma
Mind In Asylum
With unease, I follow
the terror on terrace.
The moon was sauntering on the spiky grill.
Fugitive words. I wanted
to take them home. It was
a tipping pain.
That was a brazen assault
in my privacy. Leave me
alone with my roses―
I wanted to talk to them
for a while, before I climb
the rainbow to become artless.
The muse sometimes leaves
me behind. The body gives in,
fighting off the daydreams.
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