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

A pinch of moon in the glass of my wine.

You flock to a set trap. A bubble.

In raw blackness you want to find fireflies

Starting a blaze in rape crime.

Deceived several times, you err again, and

There was no clear move. Flamethrowers were on the way─

Into the nightscape, an earthen lamp ushers in

Step down from your ego. The brain dead has─

The lesion was spreading. From

Like a prune, it was an old year, standing