01 December, 2021

Not Weeping Poetry

It is almost eerie,
scary too. I have not stopped loving
you. Trying To learn ghost words

I am thinking of writing
Wallace Stevens. The black birds come
and sit on the sill, looking at me.

The abstract pain was
flawless. Ink is black on white
paper of life. There was no blood.

Satish Verma

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