Poetry

It is,
what do you not say
I read the dusk
on your eyes.
Unspoken words
hammering!

A timer,
quartz clock,
ball bearings, pellets
croissant of terror.

Suspicious of the lady
riding on crest
responsible,
for the happenings.

Fear,
hair raising,
turns back the centuries.
We lose,
ourselves!

Satish Verma