Climbing

Before sinking to knees. I will talk to flowers. Day of arrival has come. In death, wisdom of trees will eject the seeds of fire on hip-locked roots. A miracle will raise the bones from the rage of crowd. The king has agreed to depart. Darkness sings in the valley of sun. Tongues are free to weave the moon. Till the words are ready to walk on street of sorrow to remove the blood soaked prints. Satish Verma