The Accidental Fall

Satish Verma

My bronzed speech is available, 
accepting the defeat of daffodils. 
I will not write an elegy. 

The postpartum blues are over, 
I am coming out of the crib, 
like a new born poem. 

Floating the paper lanterns, at 
night, on flowing river, to send the 
message to moon. No more the beach will cry. 

The triangular nuts will 
speak of the hurricanes, protecting 
the hairy seeds. 

No resistance was needed 
to stop the invading army of black 
ants, ready to tear the dummies.