Breaking Black And White

Satish Verma

Bending the truth, 
you return back to your home, 
separated by a― 
monologue of lie. 

When do we become human, 
collecting the firewood, to burn 
the wax houses, lifting the sky 
to fall from heights? 

It was a rare glimpse― 
of the running limbs, 
in unison, when the rains arrived 
in the long-armed dahlias. 

This is cryptic nonsense when 
you start seeing the flesh, 
in grass, where moon has come down 
to water the Lucifer.