Rite of Passage

There was insurgency- in white night. Moon will stay to witness the murder of a golden leaf. What was the promise of a ripe language ? The yellow thrust ? Keeping a date with death was not all important. There were lots of poems to be underlined, preened and straightened. The dirt had accumulated. A metaphor will remove the stains. Any confession will take away the mystry. Who killed the nothing ? Unrelenting the apples were crashing. Satish Verma