Changing Landscape

Living on shifting sands, do not go for the rains. One day you will become a robber crab. A cross-dresser you were. My candle burns to see your face in dim light. Moon said, it was not yet dark. Playing with rustling leaves of autumn. I went on collecting the gifts of winter like my variant moods, yellow, brown and red ! Go and meet my deadpan silver. It would never be my sizzling poem. I will pour the green river in your blue eyes. Satish Verma