15 February, 2021

Knocks on The Door

You are my beautiful poem,
O moon. The absent conclave will
ask the knife to navigate in homeless pains.

The masculinity prevails
to kill the growing trend of night song
to take vendetta on the clouds.

The political color invades.
You wear the. Crown to hide the sharp
features of resurrecting truth.

Satish Verma

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