SMASHING THE ROAD SIGNS

My garden cries for no reason. 
Kindness melts into a rain 
of twisted petals. And that is it. 
Alone I whisper the translucent words, 
watching the death of dreams, living fossils. 
The sun bakes the seeds. 

The essence will not heal, 
this bandaged soul, 
the conceptual death of a thought. 
This fear is like a curled snake. 
Must I abandon the path? I know, 
I will not forgive me, at this dim joint. 
I must move. 

I do not know, what to think, 
how to catch, the poetry of night. 
The light blinks on my eyes. 
I walk in the shadows of sounds, 
smashing the road signs.

Satish Verma