Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 2017
He was not at guilt,
it was the neuro―
hormones, hired from moon.

You were burning
inside, smokeless
without flames.

I throw the net―
in lake to catch,
the moon for once.

The day was ready
to close the eyes―
to practice philanthropy.
Written by
Satsih Verma
Please log in to view and add comments on poems