In November Poem by Satish Verma

It was a subtle shock.
I will meet you before
the sun sets.
Smiles have come up for sale.

The failed aphorism.
You were always afraid
of an anvil.

Hot iron was not red. You cannot multiply.
There was no trauma.
I will ask for my blue stars.

The hooded threat
was evident. You were not
ready to face the stroke.

With bare hands I will
dig out my key. Your kindness
was enough to open the lock.

Life brings out the
intense eyes of cobra, ready
to charge.