Clear The Decks

A Poem by Satish Verma

Clear The Decks

Searching human
teeth. Real fossils.
Let go my hand.

Chasing the
flames. No moon to
brighten path.

Sweating in woods.
I am holding roses.
Not thorns.

Struck by
lightning, truth burns.
Rains will not help.

History repeats.
Animals roam in garden
of colored lilies.

It was diplomacy.
The patriarch dies, leaving
the legacy of harms.