Moonlight Through The Filters Poem by Satish Verma

Moonlight Through The Filters



At the foot of the
burning candle, a dancing
shadow gives you a call.

In moment of
hubris, all chandeliers
will crash and prehistoric dirt
will cling to hairy legs.

The taste of berries
was changing. In deep
autumn only skeletons
talk.

Near the lamp
festival, we will watch
the leaking sky. The
aliens would have the last laugh.

The time turns
back the clocks. The
defiant mood will bring out
the beautiful masks.

Tuesday, December 5, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Jette Blackstone 05 December 2017

That was quite a second stanza. I love your interesting mix of images you present here...so vivid and challenging to make the connections.

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