Poetry

This life has snubbed the bloom
like a thick brown sac
thrown on the sod.

An octogenarian tries to slice
the hope indulgingly
to achieve immortality!

Was it a virile snarl?
A rose bud wrenched open
in a fatherless home.

Psychopathic?
We are spinning round the bell.
It may not tell the god.

A moon finds a rival
in the lake.
Night opens like a black tulip.


Satish Verma