Brilliant Stroke

Satish Verma

Unstable like a mercury 
drop, when you hold 
a pen, hiding your 
icy thoughts. 

Like an archer, ready 
to abandon the bow, without 
shooting at the target. 

The bull's eye was a 
blue rose, sitting in the dark 
niche, afraid of light. 

In synesthesia, of 
nights assault, you fume 
and sizzle, when the dew 
drops hit you. 

You will not give the name 
of slayer, who killed you with a smile.