An Angst

Satish Verma

Was it kosher to wake 
up a sleeping poem, when 
someone has burned the book? 
A rite of passage 
between the poppies? 

The soaked swans 
were not ready to accept 
the challenge of the defining moment. 

A smart moon walks 
behind me, snooping around the pines, 
to drink the brazen lips. 

Why small girl walks on the snow 
to get the blessing 
of the bells?