Deadpan

The night calling. I start
the search for survivors.
A loquacious day shuns
the clouds.

A black hole. I move in circles.
A star was going down in an
abyss. To think, was a taboo subject.
A naivete' towards perceiving.

You can keep your eyes open
and not discern any frame.
A hand will not find another
hand in neighbourhood.

There was less sexism without
the chair. The paradox was no -
body wanted to discuss the
markers of malignancy.

The house was up for the sale
deleted from the manuscript.

poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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