The trembling hands were
ostrasized for living more
than the mafia.
Why the marigold
will not use the magical potent
to understand the conceit?
Wounded by street
an unease settles on devestated trees.
How the broken moon will rise now?
The giver will not distort
the truth for the sake of bleak landscape.
Seeds were waiting to sprout.
You can bend the rainbow.
Night was raped for nothing.
Sun will take the revenge.
Satish Verma
