Food Was Left On the Plate

For you I am walking on rocks holding unburnt match sticks, you want me to throw them behind me. To step down in lake for washing sins from the snuffed out skylights. Between green and blue I climb on leaves. Remained pygmies till end, in frail human relationships. All that we saw, was only for ourselves in questions and replies. Wasting shine of titles, followed by empty looks. Nothing remained to be said. Food was left on the plate untouched. SATISH VERMA