Poetry

That intense pleasure at the height of negation
haunts me
from the sense of weightlessness.
In praise of complaints I sacrifice my anger.

Sanity demands an explanation
for the grieved flowers
who assembled for a wreath.

The window will not betray the sun.
Prodigal sunshine will come back
to face the arrest.

The prism breaks the charm
flings off the clouds of flirting winds
and removes the veils from the eyes.


Satish Verma