satishverma

Clouds Were Collecting

Time
was moving without wheels.

Not a match. I
don't exist. Anonymous.
You were also not same
as I lost you.

Black walls.
You will kiss them
for a promise.

Your lips, wrapping
the wounds, like bandages.

The bruises smell
like poppies.

Not thirsty. Still
I revert to the theme of
dry lake.

Are you going to
shut the eyes of moon?



To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.