Satish Verma

O Zero man! you come 
with a continuous denial, 
of thirst of war, 
a habit, predation. 

When would you cross the blood lines? 

The night blooms. 
Sucking stars, moon 
and chaste boundaries. 

Nothing moves in the 
stillness of voice, words. 
A green light floats. 

When there will be peace? 

en face, I was ready to 
fold the words, the sky.