Satish Verma

Go, my sun go. 
Collect all your golden leaves 
and leave me with pink wounds. 

Go, my son go. 
Collect all your lies 
and leave me with bare bones. 
Lying in bed with saddened eyes 
I count the mistakes, eternities 
and chew the years. 

It had been a long journey 
from cloud to cloud, 
time to dropp on dew again. 
I return to silence 
feed it my body.