LUNAR TOUCH

The space covers me now. 
Words stayed too long 
beyond the thoughts of I 
and my landscape. 
A burst of silence soaks me. 
What was history, 
a voyage to rough awakening? 
Absence of a voice makes me suffer again. 

My religion burns. 
Life is a dark smoke 
I will write a message on your palm. 
Give me a breather, 
the distances make me sad. 
Black dust drifts through 
the slits of our predictions. 
At least I know what I am. 

On a sunny day 
I break a mirror. 
My fingers slide like scissors, 
open the envelope. 
I know it has a sermon, 
I don’t want to read. 
The depression has a lunar touch. 
I break a flower into hundred petals.

Satish Verma