Behind The Whispers

One day―
you may become,
your own revenge.

Making a preemptive
move to torch
your book.

The steely arch
in sky, in solidarity
with pain of past genocides,
was losing its way to the
rude and narcissistic era.

The night will not
listen to any sunny prods.
The moon will take
a dip in the lake.

I will swap my poems
with your smiles.

The shifting sands
had wiped out the traveler's
path.

by Satish Verma

Comments (2)

Hi Joey, I enjoyed this - not quite sure about trees dying in the breeze, but the over-all feeling is spot on. well done. >Thom
I think happiness is what you make it. And trust me I sit in the dark all the time and hide I know the feeling it's not a good one. Good job! -Shell