Standing Under The Magnolia

You need to know,
one shouldn't draw
the arcade of night.
When light goes down, I will
wake on the moon.

You choke on
jubilating the silent voices
playing with fire.

Our planet was
breaking. I am waiting
for something to arrive
to salvage the unmutilated morals.

When I pluck the words
from your lips, you start crying
for the lost meanings.

My fingers writhe,
and curl, to shape the question marks.
From where the screams
were coming?

I never got the response.

Satish Verma