STRIKING PORTRAIT

A silvery, 
fluting cry of a sleepless moon 
on the pillow of a twilight sleep: 
an enigma I wanted to share 
with a skylark. 

From the disbelief rises a sulphur 
cloud to thaw the ice on the tongue of a dawn. 
First ray of sunlight starts flirting, 
with a dew dropp on a wet rose. 

It was not a poem but a thought 
crossing a bridge into eternity, 
for a sparkle in the pain of life, 
a hymn to be recited without understanding 
the meaning. 



Satish Verma