|
At midnight incarceration of mind
brings me outside of my body.
And sets the silence rolling
bidding the voices to stop,
which were seeking import of emotions.
The sting of wasp is neutral.
It pricks pride of every lie.
Abruptly my agony drips,
and my wealth of sleep is interrupted.
I am sucking my own blood.
Pierced eye sees broken moon
on the blue sky.
SATISH VERMA
|
|