Not To Be Understood

Satish Verma

We were not in the 
same book. Gods different, 
we were placing dots 
and dashes, smelling nights 
writing our own epitaphs. 

What this insane world 
had offered to you in the 
family of nonbeings? 

I learn to sell my 
wounds to buy peace. 

The equinox equals 
the strange life. Half yours and 
half mine. 

Undoing the disgrace 
of falls, living in glorious 
retreat, you do not want 
to be understood. 

The evergreen grass under 
the running feet, would have the last laugh.