Not Negotiating Poem by Satish Verma

The lost child of
pulsing star was hiding in your eyes.
A feud will decide
the fate of broken wings.

There was no classical
guilt to wipe out the
gossip of coined vocabulary.

Tears will spoil the milk
of hungry mouth.
Two halves won't move.
I dream carrying the stains
on my sleeves.

A thick silence descends.
No mistakes.
I plan to kill my steps.

The doorbell rings.
Time to say goodbye.
I open the door.
Stranger picks up the briefcase.