I Will Write A Poem

Satish Verma

He used to tread lightly as if 
walking on concrete, barefoot― 
to capture the apologetic 
colours of rainbow in lake. 

A spinning top, he wanted 
to float on water and touch 
the soft contours in depth― 
wrestling with waves. 

A dark sky was hovering 
around. Something was rising 
from the black hills, as if 
on fire. I had never seen before― 

the golden moon, rising. Two 
song birds darting to and fro 
as if in great agony to save 
the nestlings from the lynx.