satishverma

MOOD SWINGS

Must I give you 
the chilled truth of dry winds 
till the fire 
reaches the backyard? 

The half-thumb 
was held by the wheels. 
Why you were pushing 
the hearse 
of a dead lie? 

Anonymus 
was the letter written by moon 
to the damp cloud. 
The rain drops will never 
agree for the trysts.

Satish Verma