Poetry

Happening?
you heave a sigh.
In peril, mother of peace?

Real threat
to ice lingam? the Creator?
Falling apart?

Cat’s claw was not healing.
Where the greens will go?
The pods, the seeds?

Tara, Tara!
come again,
we are waiting on the hills.

Glaciers were shrinking-
rivers are sad
and trees are weeping.


Satish Verma