What September

Ceaselessly,
the September moon
was sending poems
in quick succession.

Life had come to a grinding halt.

The walls,
wait to end the race of
stings. The heat was
a dirty yellow.

You will witness the fall of a titan.

The genome of red
wine grape was
similar to a forgotten
verse, after the―

rage of ageing cells of a sage.


Satish Verma