Time To Leave

Satish Verma

Sipping the light
from moon, playing with
dandelions, do you remember me?

Milky latex on your
hands, you squeeze the round
seeds, as if to become steady―
for a denial.

I will never know the―
difference between the twins.
Pain and ecstasy of loving the
thorns of rose hips.

Stay there, where you
were comfortable. Standing
on the edge of a steep rock
I am waiting for―
the fall.