Discarded, on a heap of broken
ceramics, a rotten tooth wants an
award, for biting the snake.
Who was pulling the strings?
The temper of a black moon
beguiles the sun. The green-pathway
was hidden under the rock.
Who was holding the baby?
I am again bewitched by my own
failures. Searching my legs under
the bush, my wodden self cries.
Who was asking the question?
Satish Verma
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: March 31st, 2011 21:58
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
Offline)
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