Satish Verma
Under The Palm Moon
A broken step―
halts me. I move towards
you at the inner call.
Clockwise, going
sensual, you turn into
a greek fire.
Make me angry and suffer.
Don't carry the legacy
of darkpeers.
Reading my poetry for
a while, you fumbled
tracing your fingers on some beautiful words.
The moon would
shine tonight to share the crocuses.
I may write your name
on scented winds.
Easy lips. Were your trying to say something? Yet
you fall on ancient adage.
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