Bailout

Moon stepped gingerly on clouds.
Apples were painless.
Yes, centrifugal goes the truth
on a ploy, unveiling the sky.

Pain of the dreaded times,
was visible through the invisible.
Tremors in the mountain range were
palpable passing through the spine of faithful.

I am not. But I am non-beliver
in me. A real transcript of a restless
syndrome. The oranges fly in all directions
to gallows for humor.

A false poem. Sexless. The uranium was
getting rich. Bang, the hypocrisy again
rules amdist the shaved heads. Exactly
the truth lives far away.

poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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