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And Many Eyebaths
Folder:
Satish Verma I shut myself,
you becoming a fugitive,
of the neo-genre.
Birthing a truth―
of this world.
No one was a prophet.
In my inconspicuousness,
I touch you with my poems,
to cross the gloomy door.
And the cup remains
half. You kneel in a prayer
to seek what was not possible.
Who would become blameless
if there was no crime?
The gifts of love―
lie scattered. I cannot
solve the jigsaw puzzle.
A heart bleeds without crying.
