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
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: February 21st, 2011 19:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
Offline)
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