Agony

Let me douse this flame with tears. My nightingale will sing no more. Ringed by dragons, I decide to tie knot with a tempest. When the birds start dying the frightened choir becomes dumb. I wait for the butterfly effect: the thought was deeper than pain. Tension arises. I see the face of a moon. Bound but free. My security starts a guilt. It was immoral. The forgetful, yellow bones of a thin father, with a gift to fathom the flute, takes hold of the wind. SATISH VERMA