Poetry

The wait begins adorned with symbols
for shadow to fall
between hope and pretention.

The moon will talk
when the dew returns
and clouds are hiding.

He will come in a black cloak
for a final assault
with broken promises.

Is he untouchable?
You cannot embrace him?
Walks like a ghost between me and you.

Our past, open-eyed, the truth
happens on road
in crowd, in our home.


Satish Verma