Satish Verma (5-6-1935)
A FUTURE WAITS
Do not give credence
to mundanity. An iconic
black night was getting ready
to welcome Venus.
A storm was raging inside,
vandalizing the secrets of the house,
uprooting the doors and windows.
The whole life was at stake.
Shrinking the head of foes,
you start eating the live insects.
But the truth was escaping
from your lips.
My poem drop the seeds,
for the unborn children of violence.
I dedicate a book for the other me,
as I near the crossroads of uncertainty.
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