SMALL WINDOWS

This road trip to moon will not end 
through the shards of shattered, 
small prints of sleep. 

A ravaged nest lived behind tomorrow 
in necklace of past apologies. 
Hanging by fan was ending of today. 

We talked of dirty nights and bright glasses 
in the strange land of gobblers. The 
greed was the keyward. 

I was not ready to comb the promises. 
Power of poverty and deprivation 
has brought together the broken hearts. 

Let’s kill the syllables after inferno 
dousing the truth of life. Who knows 
when we will meet in darkness.

Satish Verma