TrinketsA Poem by Satish VermaA spotless white moon was hiding the―
A spotless white moon
was hiding the― ink spilled on the apron. * The pretty nouns scramble for hope― if there was any. * You could not undo― what a rose― did, in broad daylight. * A town lives under a tree, in shade. The ants come and go. © 2019 Satish Verma |
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