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Bittersweet Nightshades
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Satish Verma It was time to
modify the heritage―
in a delicate bid to
aid the dying.
A wrenching decision was―
to ask for an apology
from a living god.
I will crack, but
not come to you, to
invoke the grace of mercy.
The twilight sits at
my door to seek the nemesis.
Why did I swallow the moon
without asking the sky's womb?
Cocooned. Afraid
to show the scarred skin.
Your words bloom in dark,
like a cereus. I collect the fame
to light the candle in wind.
