A HUM

Take me, share me if you can 
my heart goes to my sun, 
my feet will go to my moon. 

O, little home 
my dream was bigger than you 
in the melody of sorrow. 

Will I walk again on the 
wrinkled sands? what can you 
visualize, which I have never seen? 

Praying in the scoop 
of fingers I feel, gold nuggets 
in the throes of doubts – 

neatly dug out from the frozen 
past, birds, smelling sex, souls 
suspended in air. 

Was it beginning of hate, 
on the yellow mountains 
where I am climbing with wooden legs?

Satish Verma