Poetry

A thought starts a fire
loosening the lips.
I want to scream.

Between dreams and stars
a sky hung with
inverted moon.

The desire springs a scythe
but cannot cut a
jellyfish of eye.

A sunstroke was speechless
without a sun.
The gift of a night.

The sweet tooth of a lie
scoops a truth,
king of bitters.

Satish Verma