NINTH SYMPHONY

A scented moon caves in 
on a tree top 
and solitude withers up in a seminal cloud, 

It is good to be friendless sometimes. 
Me and homecoming become synonymous. 

We are ruined by familiar paths. 
The mist deepens. 
Not reaching anywhere. 
I come out in dark to find the stars. 
What will you do if the soul sneaks out of a body? 

The wind starts a dirty dance. 
A tall cedar scowls. 
It starts raining, 
fabulous as tears on an immaculate face. 

Pull up the veil. 
It separates the truth. 
Do not filter the pain. 
We may find a god.

Satish Verma