Who Will Stop You

Satish Verma

The white ribbon 
gives you an angle. 
Moon will rise from that point. 

The summer dwells 
in your poppies. 
I was walking with feet of clay. 

My eyes will collect 
your scarlet lips, 
for a deathless painting. 

There it was, the body in 
velvet, lying under the shade. 
Only moon was naked.