IRONY OF AUTHOR

In the absence of a consenting moon half 
my night was in disarray, the density of poems 
was draining out the grape wine from the eyes. 

This amphitheater of your life: where you 
are spectator and you are a player, past 
the tears and past the happiness. 

Find out the lost baby, where we slept. 
A crying bundle on the tracks of bones. 
You cannot carry the outstretched alms, need to stop 
the train of thoughts. 

Green boys were hiding in their sleeves. 
Did you perform your role well in speaking 
your dialogue on the stage and give a loud 
laughing call? 



Satish Verma