Satish Verma Writing

You walk out from the bruises, like a late

You walked with me when it was pitch-dark.

Drinking from the portrait of an alienated moon

You were lost like a rolled away pill.

Sailing over the body, dream to dream

Earth was sending a long shadow on the moon.

The orange poem wanted to blunt the white

The feel, it hurts when you

A sniper was around. I did not want to rush

Attending to my laments, reading a poem to myself

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Compartment 114
Compartment 114