We The Faithful

Satish Verma

Blue moon of white night, wants― 
to bring down the sky 
in a spiritual bliss. 

Talking of reincarnation, 
I am skinned alive, like 
a cadaver, talking ceaselessly. 
You are burning sans fire. 

In absence of god, you 
become a god father 
to a beautiful progeny. 

Leave aside the lineage. 
On the horizion, a flock 
of swans was returning 
home to spread the watercolors. 

The recluse comes out from the oblivion 
to greet the inevitable.