a poem by Satish Verma

Was busy
Carving out the white clouds
Like stanzas, unflawed.
Now I begin to fall apart.

No meaning was left in a drink.
You could see only your image
Drowning in a scented charity.
At last I am watching myself.

Black paper. The ink was white.
Speechless. No body language.
Only you will discover the space
Between the unspoken words.

Only buttons know the hollowness
Of a floating gun. Meeting you in
An empty glass. Future will always
Talk of a setting sun.