Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
Circling
A bucketful of moon
falls on my door
with the smell of a salted night
on frozen shoulders of a punctured landscape.
I start expanding
unseeing a sentimental lake.
Life was asking a very high price
for the purple bruises.
Why do you land on the sea of names?
Only one face sinks in the spill
of words. Would you put the green
rain in my glass of absinthe?
poem
by
Satish Verma
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black