Of the Next Zen

When moon was found on water sky came down with unclenched fist, too proud to accept the defeat. Footprints of a giant will not leave the broken landscape, of the virgin garden where roses died in a row in storm. There were no absolutes in good and bad I have started talking to trees to shed their blooms, winter was coming in blue eyes. My ship was able to dodge the icebergs wringing the waves from your face; lake heaved a sigh of relief in glided death. Satish Verma