satishverma

SPOTTED IN GLASS

Perfect bridges for a fading light 
taking you to dark caves 
like fireclay in fake sorrows. 

The superstition of a race pool 
and unearthing the sacred temple 
under a mount of lies. 

In vitro a baby god sleeps 
waiting for a butcher knife 
impaling the hymn on thorns. 

A silver lining for a black moon 
who refused to walk away. 
The stars were frightened and bewildered. 

A corporal punishment was waiting 
for the sun who neglected 
his duty during sundown.

Satish Verma