Light Luggage

Satish Verma

It was not a random
scent, when honeysuckle
entwines the moon
in evening.

The bewitching smell under your
eyes lingers, till I kiss
it away.

It tumbles out
when the speech fails.
Still I would wake in dark.

Ah, the terror
to remain alive, under
the water of mercy.

Write me off from
the hounded list. I was
walking on the crumbling
leaves of autumn.

Emotions float on
the flames, like the syntax.

eleven_eleven's picture

reading your work is a

reading your work is a privilege