Poetry

In the surge of dark
there was a lunar smile in my glass
I will not abandon the moons
in your eyes. A white sow was
going to deliver the babies.

It was departure time
and the profile was ready to collapse.
Mars was throwing the loaves
to human beings and aliens were
going to land on earth.

Sing my baby, sing. Opening the
knots of life, returning to barn
in wild tempest. I know I have
to unearth the buried truth and
talk to ghosts of lies.

Satish Verma