a poem by Satish Verma, India

Listening to the voices of silence-
of beautiful triangles,
plagiarizing the
straight lines from nowhere
I lost my way to
find you.

I don't have numbers
nor zeroes. Only angles
to solve my pathless destiny.

In spiral mysteries,
would you ever climb the
stairs of a minaret, reaching moon?

You wanted a black rose
without barbs.

How does the blood flow without veins
on the cheeks of sun?

A hurt activist
disappears in the clouds
without wings.

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