Bittersweet Nightshades

Satish Verma

It was time to 
modify the heritage― 
in a delicate bid to 
aid the dying. 

A wrenching decision was― 
to ask for an apology 
from a living god. 

I will crack, but 
not come to you, to 
invoke the grace of mercy. 

The twilight sits at 
my door to seek the nemesis. 
Why did I swallow the moon 
without asking the sky's womb? 

Cocooned. Afraid 
to show the scarred skin. 
Your words bloom in dark, 
like a cereus. I collect the fame 
to light the candle in wind.