BABY GOD

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