Poetry

Take it to the doors of heart:
features are same,
of whores and nuns.

Small steps, big hands
move towards the blood-gates of ropes
to pluck the thorns from books.


Tomorrow was yet to come. 
Today it is bloodbath
in river of slogans

Afterword was mine.
The candle will burn for whole night
in different colors.

Who was outsider
in the shivering crowd?
Let everybody shed the mask


Satish Verma