Poetry

To moon
giving a parting kiss of
sinless shame
I nudged him from the tree.

The night had been a terror.
I was facing myself
in unrelationship of a prayer
not to weep for my muse,

crushing a poppy on my
chest to get the imprint of your
face, like the furrowed flame
leaping from a deep hurt.

Cannot play a game of mockery
deciphering the complete
truth of a veil
for a painless stain.

Satish Verma