The Spillover

Not a dog day― 
after snapping. In 
fatigues, you get a parole 
to start sowing sunflowers. 

A butterfly skips, 
the roundabout and lands 
on your lips― 

after spending entire 
life from flower-to-flower 
from bush-to-bush. 

I was a witness to history 
in making. There was 
no togetherness. Will you 
believe that? 

I am a flame now. All 
night I will burn, 
to read the explosions― 
reaching the bottom of fear.