SNOWLINE

A blank paper invites 
for rape. 
Snow sinks for a prelude. 

The black swan flies away 
for the quiet hills, 
when sun was drawing out the blood. 

Alone I will write a poem 
beneath the tear soaked eyes 
and then moon fell. 

As in the valley 
of million tulips 
I will make a dream kill.

Satish Verma