Stolen Rib

In the rain's shadow―
I hear your murmur,
waiting for the first sound
of sunshine in late night's drizzle.

It was not enough
to remain soaked in dark.
Tears of sky will wash your eyes
to see clearly the dripping ambrosia.

Strawberry ride of
thoughts in distant stars, visits
me again and again. Why do I
clamor for dreams to become rainbow?

I will not foresee the
future. How green was my
present, you will never know.
I was king and I was the pauper.

Cuddling in May, the off pink
rioters are bleeding again.

by Satish Verma

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