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Behind Windshields
Folder:
Satish Verma Moving towards the east,
to meet the rising sun.
In wet eyes, I was receiving
your image, losing myself.
The pink doors of
deep cave, touch the flames
of yellow moon. I was surprised.
The night waits to depart.
It has rained all night,
at the pathless hurts. In sync
with the swaying of crab apple trees,
I unfurl my pains.
A milk shade spreads
between us, without breaking
the firmness of earth, where
we stand without looking at each other.
I stitch the undone
poem to bring you back, in
cottonwood arms, ready to fly away.
