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The Lilacs were Crying
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Satish Verma You went mad, going
near the sun. I am nobody to behead
the moon flaunting my agony.
Who was the rounder
in the rose garden? Lying to yourself you
collect all the truths to burn on the street.
The blasted needles do
not work. Light sleeps in the holes of
my heart. What is white and black?
Relatable
The moon does have the ability to flaunt agony. I never found it to be a comforting spectacle.
I found your write poignant, haunting and I wished there were more because the question at the end is one that could have many answers.
Do what you can, now.