The Spillover

Not a dog day―
after snapping. In
fatigues, you get a parole
to start sowing sunflowers.

A butterfly skips,
the roundabout and lands
on your lips―

after spending entire
life from flower-to-flower
from bush-to-bush.

I was a witness to history
in making. There was
no togetherness. Will you
believe that?

I am a flame now. All
night I will burn,
to read the explosions―
reaching the bottom of fear.