STARDUST

Out of the cleft lip comes 
a muffled voice 
on the turn of events, 

to interrupt a call. 
Then the panic rises, 
the blood was oozing from the larynx. 
The winding mountain path goes to the end 
of blessing where the prayer drowns. 
What was happening to the golden land? 
Did the green worry about the iced peaks, 
from where the glaciers take a bend 
to enter the valley? 

Who was negotiating the winds? 
The logic between the stars and moon? 
Huge gods were speaking to the men 
in black, wearing eye masks on the highest terrains, 
not heading my grief. 
The dust was crying.

Satish Verma