THE SHOOTING STAR

This was an obscene observation,
seeing through one’s mind
a terrible happening.
The naked truth was always dangerous.
I close the eyes of a beloved day.
The first lover hovers over
the trees like an invisible ghost.

By transforming the obsession
into the wholeness of a metaphor,
don’t you externalize the center,
of a theme? Integrity was
never your forte.
The light within was fading,
sheer escape.

I believe in a spring faithful to sun,
where the searching ends.
The body melts into melodies,
and the shooting star of midnight,
leaves a trail of fire.
It opens the sky,
the blade, the freckles.

Satish Verma