CAN YOU TAKE ME TO MY HOME?

The valley holds on, to murder 
of moon, behind the trees. 
It is dark and clouds are meditating. 

You think of a perfect horror 
and a poisoned arrow flies straight 
into heart of a blissful sun. 

It is red, splattered on the wounded sky, 
scrorched by shrill cries of crows. 
It is dawn. 

You feel intense penetration of separateness, 
from the beauty of a drop, 
reflecting the wholeness of an ocean. 

The stress starts breaking you. 
Can you take me to my home, into abeyance? 
My wakefulness, reaching by silence?

Satish Verma