Poetry

Why did you have to come in this world
to become a medical waste?

There was no urgency to dropp in
and then remain unnoticed,
with no symptoms of life.
Later scooped by a dumper
you are thrown on garbage.

Vertical hope becomes synonym
for a peak spewing lava.
A collage sits in my eyes.
Yet I wipe out tears of anonymity.
The night comes to hold me in black arms.

After the squall
there was the rain and
unrelenting moon.


Satish Verma