Satish Verma - GEOGRAPHY

A gasping confession
of a pubescent fault.

Why did you enter the bed
of a molten lava?

Wisdom was in silent eyes
not on the lips of a blackened rose.

The water was white and cool
the sun was red and hot.

A mirror will never tell the truth.
Bleached was the face of moon.

One night I will be killed
in the hands of a benevolent foe.

Satish Verma

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