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

I don't find words. Words will find me crying,

It was oneness, which brought my poetry

Often, I will return to myself,

I was worried. A deviant had lost the shape,

After the elective execution,

The wind was in your hair, I will bring the

This was a shock treatment. Becoming friends

The moon titled her head and went inarticulate

It insults the─ primitivism. Hypothermia, you

A fugitive moon appeared, after the blaze of the sun,