Your lips were me.
I wanted a kiss
which never came.
Insertion of a word, was committed
my wings took a flight
for anonymity.
To keep suffering alive
truth was accepting the hurts.
I was not speaking for myself.
Who was me to want a praise
for the custodian of morality?
Something for my name?
I must salute the fallen fingers,
who did not write death
for my hugging blankness.
Satish Verma