UNWAKING

I need not want to know for it, 
a dirty mind of lateral conjugation; 
of uncharted hopes. The name 
splits the long story. 

Everyone had a stain on chest, 
color roiling the heart. 
Dancing on the cocktail grass, 
they started calling the moon by putting up long knives. 

Unhearing the whistles in rooms of 
lambs, the crosswords engaged the knot 
of strongheads who had started 
playing diplomacy. 

Nothing changed the contours. The wind 
was inheriting the scent of a rider, the 
trees unheard off. Fastidious, my innocent 
mind was looking at the highway.

Satish Verma