Where Will You Go?

Satish Verma

Not a doomsday
O hardened life, I cannot
read you like a Rosetta stone.

You walk under
Jacarandas to become purplish
blue without moony touch.

The scented air
brings meltdown, I rise
the candle to count the tears.

A trembling prayer
dries on your lips. A university
of love burns in eyes.

An orange color
abducts the clouds for a forced
marriage with sun.