Poetry

Winter topples the
sting
of muddled tongue.

The bottle
breaks the stasis
of eye.

I cede the smile
of history.
Somebody has left the home.

I become my enemy
in dark
for the acid taste of truth.

The moon
had the malignant stain.
My shirt has become dirty.

O god,
I never believed in you
nor in your ugly world!

Satish Verma