MORSELS

Talking of nameless and unhappy death
I resume the pathos of recluse
if not, what do I do after the sunset?

The shadow themes are picking up
and I am saying, 'No, I cannot do it,
may not do it, will not do it.'
I have been a drifter, did not grow roots
between the desire and wish. I had been
hopping from a thing to nothing.

Pretending my privilege, I ask the periwinkle
how do you do it,
remaining evergreen?
A smile spread on the calyx
the kind of a rainbow.
That was the answer.

No trace of bitterness, just the innocence
after many hurts. Life prods, life knocks,
natural and unfathomed pain. Must it leave
a scar? Live as you are, I say.

The blackened bread, the fudge,
whatsoever comes on the way
the flavor should be sweet.
They are morsels of confession.

Satish Verma