Standing Under The Magnolia


You need to know,
one shouldn't draw
the arcade of night.
When light goes down, I will
wake on the moon.

You choke on
jubilating the silent voices
playing with fire.

Our planet was
breaking. I am waiting
for something to arrive
to salvage the unmutilated morals.

When I pluck the words
from your lips, you start crying
for the lost meanings.

My fingers writhe,
and curl, to shape the question marks.
From where the screams
were coming?

I never got the response.

  • Author: satishverma (Offline Offline)
  • Published: October 2nd, 2020 20:15
  • Category: Nature
  • Views: 9
  • User favorite of this poem: RiverJordan.

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