Poetry

Trapped in staircase,
huddled in dark,
you cannot go up.
you cannot go down.

The succession wars
have started again.
Bending the laws,
molesting, disowning.

The predator will get away
eating the gold,
the paradise.
You are left with the lantern.

Burn, burn my kisses.
The heat will melt the eyes,
the snow of the hill.
the glass of a virgin.


Satish Verma