Tonight
when I come back
clad in wounded memories,
one seed deep
the pod would lie in the forest of hands,
I will wake you up in between
the kisses of moon.
The hawthorn lamps –
let me light the last unlit
of empty night, for a farewell
to a black rose, who had collected
the unpraised thorns.
The fugitive wind shuts the smart tears.
SATISH VERMA
Added: on Monday, November 2nd, 2009 at 2:14 am | Viewed: 30 times, 1 so far today | Comments (0)
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