After The Sunset Poem by Satish Verma
After The Sunset
Rating: ★4.5
Night was young.
Shameless moon
wanted to talk to me.
Will do what―
I was not supposed to do,
holding back the tears.
We had killed
ourselves with indelible scars
for a puppet show.
Reddish-yellow
rind of bloody orange in
the eyes of severed head.
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/4/2024 10:31:36 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Two boys hold hands on an expansive veranda. The rain cannot condemn them as cars whizz past, windshield wipers slapping the sky's tears aside. In this governed land the laws do not decide who must turn their headlights on when night has not yet come.