Weaving a Motif
Again you are enslaved by your
past. The comfort zone.
You were very emotional
at defining moment.
The mist halts the onslaught
of unstable pain. Gives
an excuse to thrive, for
the fallen angel from symphony.
Stitching the drab evening
with moon’s needles. I will
not bring the white shroud
to disconnect with plumbago.
Visceral feel. You must find
out the name of the black
hole when belly was
ripped apart.
Satish Verma
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