Poezja

Can you freeze the years?
Untrammeled mind?
Why lost in consoles, for
hurting odyssey?

Why we did not meet
in unhearing range?
Like the grassy lips
of silken stings?

A moon?
behind us the war machine
was walking.
Sunflowers had gone in a
beauty contest.

Tree lighting had begun.
Who was the night-sentry?

Satish Verma