Where The Lies Are Born? Poem by Satish Verma
Where The Lies Are Born?
Entrailes were sucked by grief
and pleasure bruised;
beyond the possible
I aspired to find
meaning of life.
A will to reject
unbearable waste,
I trim humiliation.
Time scares by taking revenge
breaking the inner serenade,
and I climb the doubts.
Heartache persists without revelation.
no bitterness descends.
I dip my fingers in blood
to write a flaming entity.
Tell me where the masks are assembeled?
Where the lies are born?
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4/16/2024 3:45:17 PM # 1.0.0.1119
The carefully sewn bladder was inflated with air. Inflated with a sort of melancholy airplane song. When the feathers were found in the snow, scattered and spattered with blood, there were no tracks to be found. She listened to the moon, felt the water with her toe.