Under The Mist

by Satish Verma

Aggressive posture of silence
sweeps the mind.
I preempt the drowning of septum
in calving ice.
The ostium ultimately opens
to spill over the therapy.

You go into the cave
to pull out the newborn thought.
The day runs again for bread
and butter. There are
no holds barred. It
was an intact valve.

But the heart blew away
the soft feathers.
I cannot fly now.

06-Apr-2013

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