Author Information
A Mask Done
Folder:
Satish Verma Your time
was not my time.
An arrow had pierced the space.
There was no past,
no present.
Only I had given you the future.
And now
a volcano will not sleep.
When the death
arrives from sky, how
will you welcome it
with broken heart?
When somebody is
burnt-out, would you collect
the ashes of poems?
The proceeds should go
to barren fields of human mind.
May be, a virgin marigold
bursts out.
