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By Satish Verma | Category :: Poem

Need mercy for a
Freudian slip.
I was sitting on a window.

The light went out
from the eyes of the masterpiece.
Only stones were left.

Give me the figurine.
I wanted to cut open the navel
and find out the blue god.

Will you pull the chariot
of moon? The black horses
will not send the blessings.

The dawn was still hiding
in a bunker. First you feed
a child and then kill the rising sun.

By Satish Verma | Nov 23, 2017 | Category > Poem >Life | Comments | Views 228


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