Naked As Ice

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Howling wind! 
Why were you gathering the― 
dead leaves, sweeping 
the desolate white road? 

A bleak and dismal emptiness 
in-between, the 
no man's land. 

Thousand eyes watch the tiny flurries. 
The perfect peace, 
descends. 

From moon's navel, 
falls the golden bloom.