Endless Yearning

Satish Verma

The thirst will know, 
the river was there. 
To lie on the grass was ultimate. 

It was not the green, 
it was not the blue, 
but desire had the keyhole to look 
at the fine sands, 
where you stand to find the 
elixir of life. 

A crackling of joint, awakens 
you. You will not wait 
for the rains to come and overwhelm 
the permeable umbrella. 

A fluttering butterfly 
knows, how to become floppy 
and dangle like a dead leaf. 

The stream was 
drinking its own water.

fuche_bu's picture

The stream must drink its own

The stream must drink its own water to survive.  Nice poem.