OF THE NEXT ZEN

When moon was found on water 
sky came down with unclenched fist, 
too proud to accept the defeat. 

Footprints of a giant will not leave 
the broken landscape, of the virgin garden 
where roses died in a row in storm. 

There were no absolutes in good and bad 
I have started talking to trees to shed 
their blooms, winter was coming in blue eyes. 

My ship was able to dodge the icebergs 
wringing the waves from your face; 
lake heaved a sigh of relief in glided death. 



Satish Verma