Satish Verma
SPOTTED IN GLASS
Perfect bridges for a fading light
taking you to dark caves
like fireclay in fake sorrows.
The superstition of a race pool
and unearthing the sacred temple
under a mount of lies.
In vitro a baby god sleeps
waiting for a butcher knife
impaling the hymn on thorns.
A silver lining for a black moon
who refused to walk away.
The stars were frightened and bewildered.
A corporal punishment was waiting
for the sun who neglected
his duty during sundown.
Satish Verma
https://truml.com