Poetry

Homecoming under the moon
devoid of pain.
When did the clock turned back?
You are becoming a child.

My journey opens
in a dark wound.
A promise to walk blindfolded,
when only the footfalls are audible.

The distance between the homes
was increasing.
Your own shadow becomes a stranger:
mystery of defining the life.

Living among cannibals,
aides ready to drag your carcass
unfolding your truth
falling in dust.


Satish Verma