Through a kaleidoscope
A physical life in crisis
Dying seems imminent
Does your life go pasteurize
Or is it through gossamer organza
A zephyr blowing
With vivacity zip
In springiness with vitality
Straight to the grave
Sometimes the misuse of a word can be funny...
If milk could kill
We would all be dead
But Luis Pasteur
Hit the nail on the head:
"Witchcraft may kill
By subtle disguise
But I have the cure:
Its just passed your eyes!"
Windmill screeching fast
Grasses obscure distant past…
Happy homes don’t last
Hollyhocks will not let me go;
hold my hands.
Shying away
they were turning to ashes.
In the night, wisteria
emanates a hungry cry.
Though wind had announced
sun has not kept the promise.
I gasp for the body silver
like ancient lust,
pure and paranoid –
asking for the head of a spider.
This non-violent resistance
seeks more space to pasteurize
the beautiful milk in gold containers.
A passion flower was going to melt.
SATISH VERMA
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