Poetry

Was there any option left?
Violence was there,
evil existed in pacifism.

Signature flora demonstrates
the mental poise.
I call for the imperfections.

In blue mood, I kill the moon
and take a walk on the cinders.
Will you give me a hand?

There was no path left,
but the trees were walking on beach.
The war will never end

between the genders. The
secret of butterfly catcher
was buried long ago.

From a childhood into the -
forest of lies, it was a long
journey losing the scents.


Satish Verma