SCENT WILL BE BURIED

This way it was 
this way it happened 
I could not run along the river. 

Your face floats 
like a skylamp. 
Halfway rainbow was broken. 

How did it happen? 
I became transgenic 
by the kiss of death. 

This was my victory 
I surrendered the cushion. 
You sleep in my arms. 

Again I will wander 
in the graveyard 
where my angel was sleeping. 

This is my last letter 
in the month November 
Now the scent will be buried in snow.

Satish Verma