White Lies

by Satish Verma   Dec 6, 2019


It was a glass house.
A burning boat capsizes
in milk body, creating
a schism.

Relentlessly, a classical theme
was furloughed. I
refuse to sell,
sell anything.

A deemed thought is
nurtured, hiring the
tall grasses, to hide
the kill. I am writing-

a poem of falling leaves
to eat the huge steps
of a giant, who started
the blood time.

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