by Satish Verma
This politics of poverty
erupts again,
entrapped in arcane script.
A code of words will find
the fault lines.
Coerced to wait in a
black book, you start forgetting
the rules of game. It hits you
when you were writing
a poem.
At the end of the arguments
a lynx eyed moon walks
on the lake of tears, constructing
a dam of bread, for
a broken promise.
Satish Verma
From:
Ajmer, Rajasthan, India
Copyright ©:
satishverma
Last updated February 12, 2013