satishverma

WORDS ARE MINE

Blood was in season, 
on your hands. 
A staged encounter 
mauling the clouds. 

Into a hare, you put the lead 
with a roar of gun 
and sun wants his share. 

Beneath the honours 
lies the guilt 
of a ravaged moon. 

I will not walk again 
on the bristles of power. 
Uncanny love lies in state.

Satish Verma