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Not My Failure
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Satish Verma The body implicates the
philosophy for lullaby. Something
sleeps between moons. A simile wakes.
The hands reach out for
the unborn prodigy. Will you catch
my words of celebrations?
The boneless truth will
not help. I want a burning candle
to write your name in the sky.
Your work, as always, is a
Your work, as always, is a drill into the hollows of the soul. Where echoes are begged to speak within, till they pound down the walls of separation and isolation which encase emptiness. I truly hope that these efforts lead you to solace.