satishverma

Repeating Again

Not a single word was 
written today, watching 
the masks being perfected. 

A nosedive, of what 
I built without mercury, 
without threads. 

Sitting on a black 
stone, wishing moon a 
mist bath of absolute. 

It again aches, my 
roving heart, trying to 
knit the harmony in black and white.