Poetry

To wean away a tigermoth
from a bell jar
for a journey of faith
against ebony of illusion.

The caterpillar has restrained
the roof,
of future accidents
to coming of age.

You do not know
the speed
of nakedness
on silvery path.

Where,
the ending comes?
You know
we only watch the heels of forerunners.


Satish Verma