Irony Of Author


In the absence of a consenting moon half
my night was in disarray, the density of poems
was draining out the grape wine from the eyes.

This amphitheater of your life: where you
are spectator and you are a player, past
the tears and past the happiness.

Find out the lost baby, where we slept.
A crying bundle on the tracks of bones.
You cannot carry the outstretched alms, need to stop
the train of thoughts.

Green boys were hiding in their sleeves.
Did you perform your role well in speaking
your dialogue on the stage and give a loud
laughing call?

Submitted by Satish Verma.

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