Take Up Your Book

After the apocalypse,
the fiefdoms were growing―
buttercups― with golden flowers,
cupshaped.

Anemones and hellebores/
aconites and clematises/
famed for making lethal―
poisonous seeds.

So much went through us.

A billion years after― there will be
no life/ on earth. But we
have become lifeless now―
the poems incomplete.

It was getting smaller―
and smaller― the tall man.

Satish Verma