Spotlessly

by Satish Verma

It was the day of
a dead patriarch.
I was fondling an echidna.

The home was
carried away in the
storm. Must find a broom.

On the remains
of a burned-out soul,
A hope sits on the altar.

A piano drenched in rain
will not sing in the gale.
The sky will collapse.

One day, I will bring
back the bluebird,
for a revenge.

25-Mar-2014

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