Author Information
Bowls Are Empty
Folder:
Satish Verma I am developing awareness
of your parted lips. Something was
left to say, your ankles had stopped ringing,
I am not a holder of
candles. Want to stay in the dark to
look at the falling moon on the burning pyre.
Barefoot I walk on the
hot ashes, after the collective suicide
of the utopia, without a war.
