Poetry

A repeat lover,
moon comes back
every night in different robes.

It was a question
of your conscience, when
you were being eaten alive.

Hyenas will come again-
to unearth the bones, to
give you the message.

Remaining poor was a great
bliss.You don't
need to pay for anything.

The hunger goes deep.
Fathomless.Your eyes roam
in search of a face after the hanging.
Was he smiling?

You hanker to touch
the eyes, which were burning
like coals.