Poetry

Sometimes
you want to shut the book
and bring out the darkness from bleached words
of a lonely march of the tree.
How to think or not to think
drinking the wine of pain?


Baby, do not go into the river.
The alligators will celebrate your birthday
by climbing on you for a purple bath.
Today the sun will not rise from Styx.
An anonymous author will steal a gun
and make a hole in head.

A black tulip in snow bleeds red
for a fallen sky and dies to ask some
uncomfortable questions.


Satish Verma