Written by: Satish Verma

It was night sin
of domesticity. Dyed, I am loading
the white secret of pain
in the hollow of a mayhem.

Till every blunder takes a
downward flight striping the outsized 
image of a kill. His flames are
now singeing the eyebrows of angels.

His  foes have entered the compound.
The black was alluringly looped in
a stream of blood. Death did not
wait for a ceremony.

Lips forgetting the golden sheep,
tongue apologies for the wronged earth. 

Satish Verma