Satish Verma
Cutting Edge
The rocks in water
like words, between
the tears.
Quasi-pain, reverberating
like a river.
It flows―
intermittently. The lava
of an active volcano.
You want to cover
the smashed skull.
The mirror
breaks, under the shock.
It had never happened before.
A nude streaking
on the screen.
The moon had nothing
to offer. Over and spent.
It moves on its axis
ungoverning―
the stars.
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