MILKWEED

Mundane indulgence for a prlonged state 
of agony in truth of fake lies and synthetic tears, 

bloated rendition of angels; the hate crawls 
out from the ruins of time. I crave for the musical 

instruments left in the room. The song was inside 
the winds, became untouchable in obscene 

display of naked screams, the freedom of 
stones to kill the 

black roses for rivals. Somebody stages a 
comeback for toppling the victor. A viper 

is thrown at you in dark to deliver a message!

Satish Verma