A Mask Done

Satish Verma

Your time 
was not my time. 
An arrow had pierced the space. 

There was no past, 
no present. 
Only I had given you the future. 

And now 
a volcano will not sleep. 

When the death 
arrives from sky, how 
will you welcome it 
with broken heart? 

When somebody is 
burnt-out, would you collect 
the ashes of poems? 

The proceeds should go 
to barren fields of human mind. 
May be, a virgin marigold 
bursts out.