A Sickened Craft

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Waiting for a chaste bread, whole 
life under the moon, 
to speak off the inconsistency of 
happiness, 
with a monologue 
of a needle in eyes 
for a madness of sublime verse. 

Canoeing in a frozen lake 
for a stranded rose, 
you stop at a bosky bank. 
A weeping willow greets 
the lost son. 

A school bag measures the knowledge 
of surrounding hills, who had 
plucked out the stars 
from the sky.

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allets's picture

"plucked"

the finest word-choice for dismantling metaphysical or metaphoric stars :D ~allets`

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