Covertly

If, I was not afraid of, the thing, but the signature strike of a copycat in the art of dismantling. You, try to pull down brick by brick, the jeopardy. A dead premises becoming alive. How, will you,numb with pain, explain the poetry of victim’s trail, becoming a Buddha ? Can you find a bo tree for me ? The, grape hyacinth, I still carry your globular blue eyes, chasing my kisses. Why in the evening ? Satish Verma