Satish Verma

One day I will meet you 
on a dirt track 
and ask about back yard 
where moon lives. 

Will you give me a kiss of the clock? 
I have forgotten the back years. 
Autumn now takes care of my assets 
and I keep on erasing the names. 

O, harvest moon, don’t go away. 
I was playing with the black thoughts 
eating the yellow grass, 
learning the alphabet of white pain. 

It was a crystal midmoon, dark animal, 
who has taken away all the tears.

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