A Narrative

A giant tear rolls
on the face of moon
and intend to ask, why did you crave for
the thing which you
don't get.

And then you would
smile to match the burning
lakes in the eyes of the distant star.

A void was coming up in
strange rituals. How will you
make a temple of panacea?

The hysteria erupts
in a mud dance, to plant the
lotus seeds, kissing water of god.

Smokeless flames
rise from the nameless
fire of the savage embrace.

Forthrightly a poem was ready to be boon.

by Satish Verma

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