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Sent Anonymously

By Satish Verma | Category :: Poem

It returns to haunt,
the dilemma, of disowning
the old version of truth;
when I was searching the parallelism
for the sake of otherness.

The unreturning melancholia,
brings the surreal intruder,
I did not want to entertain.

The insane activity of heart
wants a sin uncommitted.

The flirt eyes like a tulip
between your fingers,
unrolling the tender petals.

Night throws the salt on the moon.

There were no tears.

By Satish Verma | Nov 16, 2017 | Category > Poem >Life | Comments | Views 91

 
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