This life has snubbed the bloom
like a thick brown sac
thrown on the sod.
An octogenarian tries to slice
the hope indulgingly
to achieve immortality!
Was it a virile snarl?
A rose bud wrenched open
in a fatherless home.
Psychopathic?
We are spinning round the bell.
It may not tell the god.
A moon finds a rival
in the lake.
Night opens like a black tulip.
Satish Verma