One Simple Day

Satish Verma

For honour killing 
twilight adulates an abstract faith. 

Now that mouth was shut 
and butterfly was pinned, 
will you grow the marigolds? 

The empty book was not breathing 
in a crowd of words. 
The bitter meaning had flown away. 

The mountain will cry now 
in the absence of birds. 
Trees were shedding their leaves.