A CUCKOO SINGS

Rain, come again, 
full of promise & truth. 
0Endless onslaughts on my garden 
have damaged the trees of light, 
destroying my butterflies in dark. 
Death was my private thing, 
moon, come again. 

Deep in my throat 
a cuckoo sings for a queen of darkness, 
to invite the mists & clouds, 
I cannot speak for now. 
Ancient history is repeating the story. 
At dawn the shadows are gone. 

From unknown to unknown 
a thought moves 
impinging the landmarks. 
I pick up the nameless pebbles. 
Time crashes, death and life play a game, 
memories wear the grey 
costumes of fear & pain.

Satish Verma