The Time

There was a lapse
before the fall of moon.
I am standing in dark.

A wolf a day was
enough to eat me. The digital
pain seeps in the
sad ceremony.

Someone buries
the hatchet in stars far away,
wearing the black mask.

I steal your poeny.
Your velvety voice for the
sake of wronged yellow.

A candle burns
in the white room, bereft
of any trappings.

Satish Verma