The Thrill―the Game

Forget me―
not the blood truths.

I was reading your thoughts
from the deep furrows
of your forehead.

To follow the peace
I will not purchase the
eternal bites.

Poverty was the bliss,
when you were not there.
Ripped nodes were sucking―

the lame legs. I will
not call you back for
any support.

The paper boats are still
hanging out― without water.
How will you light the candle

which burns from
both the ends. Someone waits for you―
behind the curtain.

Satish Verma