BURNS OF HATRED

You put up a price on all 
the gifted items. 
I was not ready to pay back in dreams. 
Wanted to tell you 
without telling. 
Lips to lips we talk of a stillborn 
space which does not crack. 
Betraying the anger, words feel sick. 

I was trying to decipher the moist 
corners of eyes. 
I will wait till sunset, when 
I will call for the night and take off 
my shadows and dropp petals 
one by one and come out 
in hot sun to receive the 
burns of hatred. 

It was not easy. Tulips were in full bloom 
and my tracks were warm. 
There were false shades 
all around the garden.

Satish Verma