Carrying my words in a small jewel box
I was listening to silence
of falling rain,
to heal my truth.
A blueberry moon
was peeking from behind the hills.
Crazy clouds
started a celebration.
Sometimes you want to stop
in your tracks and look back
with doleful eyes. Was it important to collect red roses,
suicide notes, purple robes for seeking liberation?
The baby god I wanted to laugh with,
does not smile anymore.
His tinkles lie buried in heap of dust
in your skinny heart.
Satish Verma