Three Vistas

Satish Verma

Do not count. 
Do not return my poems― 
written for you, 
in memory of hot pink 
flamingoes, that had not returned 
to their abodes. 

Flashbacks. Fear of colors 
arises. You shut your eyes. 
Idolatry soaring. Night 
will ask the stars. Why am I 
carrying the burden of a rock 
on my shoulders? 
Moon laughs. 

You stay quiet, 
will not commit any kill. 
A train whistles by. Evening 
plays a thief, stealing your demeanor. 
Inside you burn. No smoke was 
coming out. No reference― 
to smiles and tears.