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

Coming to an end the consecration. The land will

Do not try to flute― drinking the lianas,

You have kept the script― to age in dark,

Becoming wise to your faults. I will not wear

Lethal mix of blood ties― before

Since you knew, ― it was going to cast a shadow.

It bends― the chastity― the illicit vows. O, let me

That inner probe― and access― was the need. I

Grazing on the clouds, moon was moving

It is pouring. You can feel, smell and touch