You Want To Be Born Again

Satish Verma

In evening I need 
to speak with my small voice 
to fill my dreams with moon. 

Buried alive in the brick― 
wall, a frightened poem 

I will meet you, my muse― 
in your space, without any pang, 
though the road has not ended. 

Drinking the dark 
wordplay with no qualms 
at the virtual rise of doom. 

The fireflies, with their 
breasts aglow, were ready to conceive 
the radical ultimate.