PERHAPS

A thought starts a fire 
loosening the lips. 
I want to scream. 

Between dreams and stars 
a sky hung with 
inverted moon. 

The desire springs a scythe 
but cannot cut a 
jellyfish of eye. 

A sunstroke was speechless 
without a sun. 
The gift of a night. 

The sweet tooth of a lie 
scoops a truth, 
king of bitters.

Satish Verma