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
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