Your Tresses Of Night Shade

Satish Verma

Do you know my 
love, where the road ends 
I will meet you 
one day. 

Life had been always angry 
with me. Sometimes I would 
sit quietly, doing nothing, and 
looking at the hanging― 
earlobes of Buddha. 

Cannot hone my thoughts, 
how to stop the violence. 
The Sunday moon― 
cracks open like a cotton flower. 

The vandals, 
I am done with. The headstones 
separate the faiths. It was 
a punishment. 

O bronzed man, don't 
hide the gold.