Mourning

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Throw a nude at him and 
he will make it a weapon- 
to rape a moon. 
Becomes a study to flaunt 
the dipping sun. 

Not mature enough to 
follow the hanging valley. 
Going nowhere. The black 
sky was immaculately 
blameless. 

This is the destiny of charred 
words. Untouchable now like 
a violence from a dew drop. I 
will not wipe out the dust 
from the bleary eyes of the young spring. 

No complaints. I have hundred 
of failures to know 
that I have not reached.

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