Poetry

Wanted to visit old lanes
for a mocking bird.
A luminous proxy wanted to play a game.

Treachery flees from
the trees and settles
on the white wings of flying swans.

No logarithm will stop
to watch the invisible
numbers going for infinity.

Tomorrow I go back to my
school, to wear my fallen mask.
The world was very obtuse to watch a setting sun.


Satish Verma