satishverma

IT OPENS

An oriole gives 
an edgy call 
in the blaze of morning. 

I am not fully awake, 
sky is melting on window. 
Death has company. 

Zen, it did not connect me 
with your god. 
I am tired of pretentions. 

Small was the wasp 
in a cobweb of pain. 
It floated a sign of conflict. 

My thorn did not prick your petals 
in vain. Dead leaves 
started bleeding.

Satish Verma