Poetry

You shall read me
when I am gone
in green pain.

There had been gifts
unhanded.
Unwrap them in dark –

when moon was
yellow.
The beams will rub your body.

A bared stasis
will stop the fluids.
Wash your face with tears.

It seems a long time
when I touched your eyes.
My clouds would not find you.


Satish Verma