Waiting To Happen

Satish Verma

Being you, 
not the bee queen. 
Volatile as it appears, would say 
one day, I don't know you yet. 

The estranged mogul 
returns home, empty- 

Don't tell me in 
stark and straight words, one 
needs clemency. 

The flame had touched me. 
A strange panorama, created 
by the geometry of violence, 
now hurts. 

Speed and direction 
liberates the path breaker. 
Resonance of your voice rises, 
reading the same poem 
again and again. 

Segmented icons would not sleep 
on the same bed.