Author Information
Infinite Loss
Folder:
Satish Verma Small truths
of gun battle,
with black roses in hands,
beg for peace.
You fly with broken wings,
and fall like a damp squib.
The darkened facts
in outsized pain, want to
revert back to line of separation.
How will you enter
into the sinless book to find
the words of a prophet?
Nothing was personal.
I have come to you―
to complain about you.
Your wrinkled eyes
look straight through me, and
push me into a dark blue lake.
I want to go dumb?
