Satish Verma

Did the supermoon
change you, as the earthmark
was disintegrating?

What you didn't
say becomes a smeared dot
on your forehead.

I would survive
between the two eyes, measuring
the space in thoughts.

Your place the ash
from pura at the feet of
walking out moon.

Why the lies are
used to save the truth from
the burning bush?

I become a raw
ghost. Do we meet only
in heaven?