Satish Verma
Touch Me Not
Butterfly interrupted.
Fear grips the flowers
eaten by the winds.
I seek the guilt for
not walking on the dunes
to build a sky.
The cracked roof
lets in the rain. I
drench my driftwood.
One day a god will sit
on my altar to speak
to ailing mother-
earth hauling away
the burden of waste
of human verbiage.
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