UNCHARTED SELF

Do not go like a rose, 
stay like poinsettia. 
Now as a brutal encounter 
holy color will descend. 

Polygonal wound was too proud 
to bleed on the street. 
The scarlet morning will bring 
night’s blood. 

And mystery of love between 
outcasts will never smell the hate. 
Insane discretion wraps a baby 
of a cloud to argue for parents. 

Questions are raw like sea 
rocks under the hoofs of a 
whiny horse. I had found you 
sitting in a graveyard.

Satish Verma