29 December, 2017

Alone In Myself

The scaffolding falls.
The end and means
become one. There was―
no other second moon.

The prosthetic hand
feels your face. Blind eyes
hear your lips and a severed
leg walks me near you.

Under the tongue you
hide a word. I will never know
what. The armless sun
steals away my golden key.

Will never find you again
in my poems. My book torn,
my pen broken. I am picking
up the old lost coins.

Satish Verma

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