Poetry

By candlelight
crooked fingers drew a face
on water for the sake
of sun.
Night will tell the fate
of flame.

Smothers with Magnolia’s
gloss.
There was an eerie silence
near the alarm clock.
Time to wake up.

The flowers in the book
will never read my story.
A naked bird hops in a cage for,
a parallel existence for another journey,
meeting an intelligent end.

Satish Verma