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The Invisible
Folder:
Satish Verma Debt laden
I turn the ashes
where you left the footmarks.
My native pain
will not go, for a distant truth.
Unscheduled
like a robot,
you kill your own, noiselessly, and then
think with your guts.
Achingly you admit
the alien for a lipless kiss,
struggling to hold back your tears.
A star breaks, in green dark,
without throwing light.
I beg the sky to give back my baby.
Forgive me,
O unforgettable, I never
understood myself.
