Not Mine

I do not know what
I will do in ink night, I will
touch you with my poems.

You are not what
you look. Everything is yellow.
The sun, moon, eyes and roses.

I hold your arm at
median nerve. The carpal tunnel
quivers. Happiness was locked.

There is an attempt to write truthfully. But most of the people are exposed to yellow journalism.

Rajendra Singh Baisthakur , Nellore, AP