Swan Song

The toppled gravestones,
I still count the heads.
I will go with your swan song, 
the bond erupts.

           You were always sitting under the 
           bougainvillea, waiting for the swallow.
           The next door summer arrives;
           Why did you say, it was biting cold ?

The door shuts on the moon.
It was obviously very dark,
and I was searching the space
between ’yes’ and ‘no’.   


Satish Verma

artabc

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