DEATH OF CALENDERS

It is me, inside & outside, 
movement of sensuous self. 
Time sails through the mind, 
a silken thread unbroken in names. 
If only the death would erase the fear. 
If only the other self meets my roots 
and stir up the inner sap. 

Reaching the end, 
you tell me to remember 
your name to latch on to memories, 
to collect all the pieces 
of conceptual loss & gains. 
How we were fooling ourselves? 
Nothing is left between us 
to celebrate the dreams. 

All the stray thoughts 
could not give us insight 
we were dusted off from start 
to finish in our loneliness. 
Once it was a glory 
to watch carnations in our eyes, 
now I am mourning the death of calenders.

Satish Verma