Never to Sleep

by Satish Verma

Those migratory storks
will not come
this year.
The lake was burning.

The secret kill
of the wringer
was metastasizing.
Make the tether -

small for the macabre
end. I am not yet
frozen. The stalker

will not leave the
flame. Outside a tribute
was ready for
an uprooted tree.

My shadow moves ahead
to catch a caged bird,
in the parrot green sky.

17-Jul-2013

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