Irony of Author

In the absence of a consenting moon half my night was in disarray, the density of poems was draining out the grape wine from the eyes. This amphitheater of your life : where you are spectator and you are a player, past the tears and past the happiness. Find out the lost baby, where we slept. A crying bundle on the tracks of bones. You cannot carry the outstretched alms, need to stop the train of thoughts. Green boys were hiding in their sleeves. Did you perform your role well in speaking your dialogue on the stage and give a loud laughing call ? Satish Verma