My Candle Burns All Night Poem by Satish Verma

Like dogwood flowers
I spread my palms, for
you to read the fate of sun.

Nothing else I would
need to complete my logarithm.
I had always failed in numbers.

Lines don't play the
game. Dots are winning the
horse race.

The hounds know
the art of killing. I was
not ready to undress the gods.

Can you surrogate
the death of a wasp, who
flew not to bite the innocent?

The point was not clear.
Nobody understands the geometry.