Poetry

The sludge overtakes the sane
euphoria.A barefoot caravan
of cloud becomes edgy.

The hills have gone green.
The cascading falls
tend to mount on the scattered stones.

Suddenly I go berserk and start
hitting the stars moon by moon,
when night had betrayed the lover.

The collected grief of the lyrics
will answer for the blood
which hunger spread on the lips.

Satish Verma