The Words Of Blank Paper

Satish Verma

Not reading your eyes 
today, walking on 
burning cinders. 

In search of green 
darkness, to sleep on the breasts 
of waiting moon. 

The fear of woods, hiding 
the tiger beetles. They 
run very fast to snatch the prey. 

No agenda. Outside is 
very cold. The poet will 
see the fall of veins. 

The road still entices. 
Endless dreams and― 
no halts to get the kiss of eternal rest.