Poetry

And that did it.
Many voices in a mayhem
lost the face of lightening.

The starlight woke in rain
untainted by dust of beds
encased in wilful folds.

The tremors will not stop
the knocking of speech, after
an intimate kiss of the void.

Talking of lonely peaks,
whom I will not touch them in morning.
Let the night take its revenge.


Satish Verma