11 april 2020

poetry

Satish Verma
Satish Verma

Unlikely

Seasoned,
a red hibiscus
will ask for a white name―
 
in winter. Like drinking
night, under the moon
for a torn meniscus.
 
How far was the skyline?
The snow wants to reach
the ultimate blue.
 
Water cries for a
beautiful weep for the sun.

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