TEASING

Tonight 
when I come back 
clad in wounded memories, 
one seed deep 
the pod would lie in the forest of hands, 
I will wake you up in between 
the kisses of moon. 

The hawthorn lamps – 
let me light the last unlit 
of empty night, for a farewell 
to a black rose, who had collected 
the unpraised thorns. 

The fugitive wind shuts the smart tears.

Satish Verma