Author Information
A Ghost Dream
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Satish Verma When you swap
your emotions with red moon,
my poem bleeds.
A huge graffiti becomes
visible, when dark clouds
gather for the gossip.
In absenteeism,
you were the sharpest pain
of my pen.
A purple smoke was
rising again, without―
a flame. One beat skips
and hundred blames come.
You don't speak
your mind. Pure faults go
unnoticed. The conversation
drops between two blades
of grass. Magenta
moon drips.
