When logic and intuition
stood on edge of time,
sugar was dancing
on the salt lake.
I would not see the torn
book between retreat
and assault.
I was reining in the new moon.
In a night raid, five
peacocks were killed. I was
trying to unseize the cross purpose,
why the compensation was rejected
at burial site.
The burden of guilt
was carried by the flint now.
You take a final plunge
and are lost in the faces
of sad children.
Satish Verma
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: June 11th, 2011 22:06
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
Offline)
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