Poetry

Dual fall of the brass.
From the bine,
from the bliss of flower strength.
An apparition
of infiniteness of agony.
Becoming one with failures.

It tends to stay
and enters the forbidden city
of endless gods.Me beseeching, imploring
to remain poor of any treasure.
The mysterious pain
a trap cannot catch.

Oh, pass on a cloud
my eyes want to rain.

Satish Verma