Back And Forth

Satish Verma

Someday I will
ask questions standing
in the deep forest.

Where the swarm
of words would go if―
the pen was broken and
you were hiding behind
the marigolds?

At last I was
looking for you with
minute details.

The silken touch of
your hand still burns
on my face.

Days don't change.
The pink symmetry was
a mirage.