Darkness At Noon

Tousling the opulence was not modesty. Who will adore the clan ? I am not yet ‘me’, the refuge of elevated moon. The heat and dust of nascent money was burning like a loud prayer in dark sun. Perfection tends to terrify the stings. A mogul of arts outlines the script of drowning a desert storm, when two flames went to bed. Do not pick up the nails for the coffin of a martyr. They are going to make a dirty bomb. Satish Verma