Grieving

Could not decipher,
who am I.
You stab the words.
They bleed.

Gypsy thoughts,
don't tell the fortune.
I will write my own will
in coal.

In blue waters
black moons float, before
seeking the volcano to
bury the hatchet.

You come hiding
the chopped toe, you
offered to deity to punish
the pen.

Satish Verma