ZIPLOCKED

Fear grips a family of words. 
You are going to where you do not want 
to go. 
I remain worried about the unknown. 

The inevitable was flowering 
on dead palms. 
Would you exhume the past to find out, 
what the divinity has buried 
along the panicles of croci? 

I do not understand this war 
between glaciers and guns. 
Can we drink together the elixir 
of death dripping from the snow peaks? 
Sun was screaming from the unblooming trees.

Satish Verma