Poetry

Like a quivering leaf climbing
unreachable thighs of a cloud
in naked shelter of sun.

I lament the fall
of a colossus
who would not live in a glass house.

Ash smeared on face
a name walks on the book
of barefoot poems.

Today I am going to morph
into a death sentence
for an uncommitted crime.

Who had lost himself
in unslept awakening
of a disaster?

Satish Verma