Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
Send Message

The Invisible

Debt laden
I turn the ashes
where you left the footmarks.

My native pain
will not go, for a distant truth.

Unscheduled
like a robot,
you kill your own, noiselessly, and then
think with your guts.

Achingly you admit
the alien for a lipless kiss,
struggling to hold back your tears.

A star breaks, in green dark,
without throwing light.
I beg the sky to give back my baby.

Forgive me,
O unforgettable, I never
understood myself.
97 Total read