Along The Sorrow


Fire in kidneys
was burning the basket.
Privacy of green thumbs
was intimately involved.

Let us share the candle light march
for the blossoms,
who would not stay
for old birds,

Read me again the epitaph
of the martyr, who wanted to remain
unsung, for the sorrow of
the flowing river.

Frenzy of a lone wolf was
inconsolable, when the dam spilled
the dead wood on the empty
bed of roses.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

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