No Explanation

Satish Verma

How difficult it was to 
remain a simple truth, 
as passive grass 
with no frills. 

I was ready to talk 
heart to heart. 

You cannot stand all the ink, 
writing, simple verse, furtively. 

What was eating you up, 
I asked the milkweed. 
"On this summer, monarchs 
were not coming to breed" 
it said. 

I felt the unease. Grappled with the 
amount of pain, at tiny thoughts. 

The scale and brutality 
of the times, the throats slit open. 

Like a clam you shut up.