Author Information
White Lies
Folder:
Satish Verma It was a glass house.
A burning boat capsizes
in milk body, creating
a schism.
Relentlessly, a classical theme
was furloughed. I
refuse to sell,
sell anything.
A deemed thought is
nurtured, hiring the
tall grasses, to hide
the kill. I am writing―
a poem of falling leaves
to eat the huge steps
of a giant, who started
the blood time.
