Did Not We Cry?

by Satish Verma   Mar 16, 2018


Ash and smoke.
I am fever, not becoming
any sound.

Like a lichen, a mycorrhiza
on damp soil,
unfound by light.

Thriving in airless
dark. Will not see the cool?
moon of summer night.

There was no key
to find the invisible.
A random poem will see.

Your painted body
in blue scars, still
remembers the fallen roof.

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