Grafting The Lichens

Satish Verma

We are going back. 
Let it be. 
I will never know― 
when will you arrive. 

In the aloneness, 
going blind to the playing 
light, you prepare to drink 
the darkness of noon. 

Becoming dishonest will 
not be possible for me. 
The times are revengeful, 
come back in black to fix the smiles. 

Like water hyacinth, the 
disquieting worries will grab 
you and hound you to the white bones 
and turn away. 

Where the blood and 
nerves went down? It was 
no sin to rise and 
stand against the sun. 

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