Satish Verma

Begins to reel, 
the dusk, 
down the street. 

The grey moon waits, 
solemnly, for the 
music of earth to start. 

There is enigma― 
in dark. You see 
the inside of a shut house. 

Like the stone 
eyes reading the heliograph 
of shrunken gods. 

Plunged into a gorge 
your eyes, to find 
the secret of a fall.