Making Gunpowder

Satish Verma

You walk into a trap. 
The self-search must start 
after the accident in hearth. 
The fire has failed― 
to ignite the thruth. 

No more questions would 
come. The shrine will receive 
all the answers. 

The system wants to know 
what went wrong to 
identify the protégé of crisis? 

You know mimosa. It behaves 
like a sensitive person. Touch it and 
its leaflets fold together like 
greetings and bend down asking 
to exit. 

The violence erupts. A god has no say.