FOOD WAS LEFT ON THE PLATE

For you 
I am walking on rocks 
holding unburnt match sticks, 
you want me to throw them 
behind me. 

To step down in lake 
for washing sins 
from the snuffed out 
skylights. 
Between green and blue I climb on leaves. 

Remained pygmies 
till end, 
in frail human relationships. 
All that we saw, was only for ourselves 
in questions and replies. 

Wasting shine of titles, 
followed by empty looks. 
Nothing remained to be said. 
Food was left on the plate 
untouched.

Satish Verma