Leaves Of Roses

Satish Verma

A racial profile begins 
between black and white. 
A silver moon ambles 
as a prelude to dark music. 

A winter night tosses hundred 
for not lighting the lamps. 

Words were still trying to 
find the ropes. 

You should know your boundaries. 
The honeysuckle will 
not graze your lips. 

The salt of earth settles 
in tears of dawn.