Satish Verma
The Time
There was a lapse
before the fall of moon.
I am standing in dark.
A wolf a day was
enough to eat me. The digital
pain seeps in the
sad ceremony.
Someone buries
the hatchet in stars far away,
wearing the black mask.
I steal your poeny.
Your velvety voice for the
sake of wronged yellow.
A candle burns
in the white room, bereft
of any trappings.
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