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

Brown eyes: little things―

For a long time I will look at you

While ascending throne, you cover up your tracks―

No moon tonight I had to find―

Staring into nothingness― the body clicks.

Remarkably steadfast, the mighty oak was standing up, as

Not settled anytime between a beast, an angel and the man:

Why do I give you the bliss― of my poverty?

This was not a witch or witchcraft, striking This was not a witch or witchcraft, striking

Nestling in the arms of blue sky, a young moon was asking