Soothsayer Has Nothing To Say

Satish Verma

The bird of prey 
had the dignity. With 
hooked bill ant sharp talons 
he sings the victim― 
a death. 

Salt was invented 
by faithfulls. Petunias would not betray in summer. 
A bleeding heart cries 
before the adversary. 

The stones regret after the 
lithographer left. There was 
a fault in design. Shards in the ink; 
You cannot kiss the script. 

The perforations 
leak in pain. Something obstructs the void 
I have come afar from 
the lies. There was no truth in peace.

Morningglory's picture


Intetesting, as always, to read you. 


. . . silent soothsayer

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