The Dumps

by Satish Verma   Aug 1, 2019

The words had started to fail me.
There was always an ‘if'-
before every war of hunger.

The candlewick has burned
out. I am collecting the?
wax from the eyes.

Wrapped agony, now lifts
the dead bird from the
rose bushes.

The frosted god
will melt to bare a
black stone.

I am not luck
I am not the future.
You know where this path leads into?


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Latest Comments

  • 11 months ago

    by nourayasmine

    You just won yourself a big fan.

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