Satish Verma > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

A soft, but me, black moon

You drape me, with wet kisses O moon.

To you, I send my silence,

Burning the pages unread.

What happened? I would ask the realness

Amnesia. I want to drink tonight,

Not knowing― was a bliss, writing

In blood and grass lies the snowman.

I hear your voice coming from within.

To become responsible for me and I had become recluse,