The Signs

This music was insane.
Do not pluck the wounded apples
of conjugal extraction.

The volatility was increasing.
Shades of blue were
sharpening. The intrusive moon

will decide the fate of
fossilized fracture. The death
came by the back door.

The rough edges are to
be smothered, after a back
encounter. The saint was ready.

The anxiety overwhelms. You
try to find a small window
to bring in the song bird.


Satish Verma
Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace