Poetry

Pull out the pellets
from my chest, I had fallen
in a brutal crackdown.
A black moon was taking revenge.

You were staring
straight in the eyes of death.
The biker,
has lost the charisma.

The apples
were never so sweet.
Bursting out of the battle lines
ready to shoot.

A black hole
was calling. To take
a final jump of art
into believing?

Satish Verma