Satish Verma

Leaving a bloody trail― 
moon jumps into lake in hurry. 
Sun knocking on doors. 

Existing without 
the soul, was a fatal mix 
of lips and hamlock. 

You write your name 
on the decapitated moon 
declaring a war. 

Fireflies now dip 
the sparks in your eyes, which 
will become blue poems.