Not Listening To Yourself

Satish Verma

I paint the day 
for you, for the last rites 
of sun. 

Embracing the dark 
to dissolve the boundaries. 

I will question, something 
else, not about the stoned moon. 

The other side of the 
thin hijab, was a humiliated truth. 
Facts were always knifed. 

Something moves 
harshly to break the silence. 
A pink self betrays the denial. 

How mandatory it 
was to keep on gooding 
the blue flames! 

There is no family 
of the bohemian.