Toeless Fear
The name calls the name
spraying the moon with red colour.
It touches a nerve, when there is
standoff on the lake.
A blueish eye invades an iron space
between near solids of docks.
The gap was widening and
the thoughts had a dead punctuation.
The fake and madeup story sit
on my breast. I go for the nakedness
of real thing. A mediocre cool burns
the skill of swans. Waves collapse.
That body was not mine. I lived
in many souls. Invisible floats
my grief in embryo of the
unborn child.
poem by Satish Verma
Added by Poetry Lover
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