Satish Verma

Unstitch my memories, 
I have come home, 

My bag was full of worries. 
How will I spread my age? 

An old man reading the palms― 
cannot find the glasses. 

After a mutiny, nothing was 
left of a hissing pyramid. 

Tell me the shape of tomorrow 
to come. In dark I have 
to bury my name.