Clustered

Was busy carving out the white clouds like stanzas, unflawed. Now I begin to fall apart. No meaning was left in a drink. You could see only your image drowning in a scented charity. At last I am watching myself. Black paper. The ink was white. Speechless. No body language. Only you will discover the space between the unspoken words. Only buttons know the hollowness of a floating gun. Meeting you in an empty glass. Future will always talk of a setting sun. Satish Verma