In Making

by Satish Verma

Spurred the kerosene
to burn the logistics.
I had moved on untrodden snow
of tanned gifts.

There was no tomorrow for me,
living from moment to moment.
The warships
had moved into positions.

Adoring the monotheism, I still
loved many angels, you were
making many moons for me.
Breathless I was running after gold rings.

Terrible, the bell breaks my ankle
and the anklets emit the trembling
moons. Let us go out on the lake
I have many scores to settle.

25-Sep-2010

More By : Satish Verma

Views: 1500 Comments: 0