a poem by Satish Verma

A silence speaks up at ungreen
age for an unknown, finding
dark matter in hiddenness
of sleazy light.

A dove in the valley of tulips
stops a flight for a wayfarer.

What was that persists,
in envioronment and bunkers?

Queen bee will decide for a spliced
dawn of honeycomb in a bloodless coup.

The stings were the torchbearers.

A smile comes out with a walker. The
vitals were dysfunctioning.
The end does not need any comma.