WHAT A SCENARIO

Put me through the
french knots. I am
under the gaze of
a jilted lover.

A freeze melts in
the rainbow. The dew
sits on the eyebrows
of the grass.

The spark splits
between the shadows.
Someone has hanged
himself from the window.

There was no life left
in the stump. Now
bristles will not stand
at ancient sites.

Satish Verma