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In Moonscape
Folder:
Satish Verma A streak of sin was
always there, when I looked
at you in brief encounters.
Cathartic.
I would not kiss the
eyes of a viper.
The giver was insane.
A bane of togetherness.You
were getting pheromones all the time.
Parenting was difficult.
Now as the holy month starts.
You were always near the moon.
In golden sunset,
I will prepare my elegy.
The flames were always green.
With the relapse of grief,
drums sounded loud.
