What Next

Satish Verma

Between the swaying palms, 
moon was moving 
in armada. 

Why did you come 
late, to whisper, of the 
explosive explicit? 

But for a lone 
cry, I would not 
take you. 

The jewels were mine. 
You had stolen 
from my waistband. 

It substracts the 
stings from my 
hobbling gait.