THE SWAN - SONG

Inadequately the clouds covered the moon 
the wind was soft and silky. 
The death of shadow was not complete. 
Stars had fled from groans of night. 

In the still room poor sentences could not compete 
with the innocence of emptiness 
which was in throes of giving 
birth to a new meaning. 

Weeping flowers were weaving a song. 
Memory, my pain, returns again and again 
I would never go ever to my old house 
just one for me, it gave me choking 
sadness. 

The wanderer me, moves again, to switch 
the lights on. You are not watching me. 
I don't put claim on my words. They 
came to me from dangerous mistakes.

Satish Verma