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
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