Unborn Desires

Satish Verma

When I make a heap 
of all my killer pains, 
rains come. 
A half-moon casts 
a spell. Hope used to 
have many colors. 
A black magic 
ruffles the feathers, casually. 
Peacock forgets to dance. 
Rocks. Like rare earths. 
Difficult to separate you 
from me. The call of the mountain 
rattles me again. Will 
that continue, unending 
path, towards non-existence? 
In the dark greens, it 
was a murder, I cannot find 
the blue moon.