Satish Verma

Have not crossed the street 
in many years 
to greet you. 

A slice of moon 
leaves footprints in blood. 
Maintaining the perfection 
you start giving names to trees. 

you start dismanteling the life 
in search of romance with death 
for immersing the dreams. 

Take hold of my arms 
I want to invent your portrait 
in sands of nocturne. 

Drink the milk of silence. 
It is dark, but soothing. 
Go to sleep.