A sniper was around.
I did not want to rush
and kiss the jessamine.
Last night, it was a
retributory offer
to put off the candle.
I am here to stay
for prudence, speaking
the dialect of the nameless.
I survive the fetishes
of light. O unknown, I
live in darkness.
Moon was my solemn-
pledge. I had always stayed
in the house of truth.
Satish Verma
The abscessed wounds of
a betrayed heart fester
from desertion and deceit.
.
She takes solitude in shadows
gnawing herself red and raw,
rankling in private torment;
gnashing her teeth.
Until pain and grief turn noxious
with a fury justly sworn
to the retributory scourge
of a woman's woeful scorn.
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