Wanted to pay
debts of gratitude.
There was a call from evergreens,
he was not ready to go.
Standing in pit of snakes
he was preparing himself for a random fang,
throat like a blue-bird
waiting for a song.
The solid waste of numerals
across the thinking,
developed plaques, while philosophy
was accepting innovation.
The authority had started
reading the couplets.
Glory came earlier
sea cracked into shells.
Satish Verma