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Satsih Verma
Poems
Jun 2019
Eye Lakes
For a believer, it
was impossible to fill
in the blanks. We were
the rarest pygmies.
Afraid of each other,
trying to demolish, the windows.
We scramble for awords.
We remain unstable.
Don't move, don't
touch me with your sacred
hands. I break down when
I **** my poems.
I shall wash my
hands again and again.
The stigmas won't go
in icy moonlight.
Water grieves for
the moon, it will not get
the honeydew.
#life
Written by
Satsih Verma
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Weeping willow
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