29 April, 2018

What Else I Will Do

I don't want to think.
I think.
Like a python engulfing
more than I can swallow.

A dream must be cracked.
A coconut to release
the white of soul.

Sitting on beach, I watch
the washed up years. The sun
roars, gives a laugh― and
goes down leaving red bruises.

A fireball zooms in―
because I won't leave the dais.

Like a mason bee, my
nest is coming up. I was
talking to ghost of yesteryears.

The fragile bones carry
you for a fat journey.
No one follows you.

Satish Verma

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