When You Peel the Moon

Turgid freedom of nondescript 
energy moves on the 
secret circuits of nude gods. 
Thy body politic breaks into splinters of million thoughts. 
When the dusty winds 
settle on our faces, it is a holy bath. 
The neutral sky perceives it, 
lapses into silence. 

Poor vision of builders, 
carries an abstract frame for the silver screen. 
We peer in dark 
to find the blasts, 
culture of giant legs was the essence of truth 
descends deep in crevices. 
The technique brings the broken images. 

In your mind lies the whole history of a tree. 
You don’t remember. 
When you peel the moon, 
your tongue falters. 
Of several centuries 
the grief stricken bird recites a poem. 
Come beside me, 
I will tell you the name.

Satish Verma