New Year

The dream death;
while birthing a─
poem, weeping
between the lines.

Why do you grieve
for the old year?
The moon will again─
rise and you can

pick up the black
roses for the baby dawn.
Waging your war till
eternity, you can kiss

the red lips of morning
sun. I welcome you,
new year, in my tattered
clothes and golden heart.

Satish Verma