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

My bronzed speech is available, accepting the defeat of daffodils.

When silence stays alone in the hollow of the eyes,

Arithmetic becomes poetry, when you start counting the stars in Milky Way.

Salt-of-the lips. You never know, how it hurts

You to whom, I am lost, the remaining pain

The heartwood had the ingrained dream map, to reach the

Wearing the red bandanna, you tried to manipulate the bedrock.

Your interpretation was a miracle of

The living dead are going to ask for the right to be

It was punctuated night. You sleep into wakefulness.