Poetry

O viola,
go over the grapes
and find an ageless green.

It is difficult
to be born
again, undoing death.

You swoon
at the continuity
of crossroads –

with blue flags
in your bowl.
A rosette,

without a winner.
A birthday gift
for all the failures.

At seventy five
you walk over a prairie
to find a shade.

Satish Verma