UNMADE FUTURE

A golden cave was afraid 
Of a blue thrust. 
Hands were not able to console 
the mirror. 

Let us step back for a 
last laugh. You were talking 
to yourself when the canary was 
set free from the house arrest. 

Ah, the paradise, after all, was 
a myth. You had to beg for a violin 
for democracy and stoop to pick 
up a horsehair bow for playing the anthem. 

You had cut your fingers in a fake war 
with the moon.It was a miracle 
knocking out the stars. A self-made 
wound will never need the sutures.

Satish Verma