MY POEMS WEPT

I had to let them stay. 
My anguish & anxiety. 
Denuding me, filling me with hymns of pain. 
The blank days drifted in slow motion. 
I tried to sing, 
imitating the cuckoo on the tree, 
to shake off the clouds from the eyes. 

Everyday the pain was new, 
dreams were old 
in the eternal churning. 
Grizzled clouds hanged on trees 
for witnessing the chaining of desires. 
Empty words went into seizures, 
clogging the arteries of crisp brain. 

Deep within a seed 
opened the eyes sitting 
quietly near the blast of pain. 
Green sprouts drank the light. 
My poems wept 
and truth started a dance. 
The time and space intermingled 
to celebrate a birth.

Satish Verma