Poetry

A scented moon caves in
on a tree top
and solitude withers up in a seminal cloud,

It is good to be friendless sometimes.
Me and homecoming become synonymous.

We are ruined by familiar paths.
The mist deepens.
Not reaching anywhere.
I come out in dark to find the stars.
What will you do if the soul sneaks out of a body?

The wind starts a dirty dance.
A tall cedar scowls.
It starts raining,
fabulous as tears on an immaculate face.

Pull up the veil.
It separates the truth.
Do not filter the pain.
We may find a god.


Satish Verma