Poetry

Listening,
to inner voice,
peeling off the hurts,

hammered memories.
You dropp the answer
and throw back the question.

Something was totally amiss
Absence overtakes the presence.
The shadow was more frightening.

No movement,
A lull before a flash,
then explosion. The limbs will fly.

The ending of thought
or beginning of emptiness?
A green death starts thinking.


Satish Verma