| |
Spotlessly
It was the day of
dead patriarch.
I was fondling an echidna.
The home was
carried away in the-
storm. Must find a broom.
On the remains-
of a burned-out soul.
A hope sits on the altar.
A piano drenched in rain-
will not sing in the gale.
The sky will collapse-
one day, I will bring
back the bluebird,
for a revenge.
Satish Verma
Copyright ©
Satish Verma
|