WITNESSES
Turbulence
breaking through the fog.
my hills disturb the moon.
It is past midnight.
The oracle sleeps on the smoke circle
of rose hips.
Inter alia, the words are excited
something is going to happen
A cuckoo gives a lyrical approval.
Pink icicles on window
pluck the eyes.
No body is going to mourn for the darkness.
An inward otherness
plants the gratitude.
Another day to celebrate.
Silience has a roaring noise
of a cascading river.
The rebel builds the witnesses.
SATISH VERMA
