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Thoughts In Wind
Folder:
Satish Verma Talking to you
in a dream, shadow of
my lips falls on your
face.
It was a strange
knowingness.
You wanted to give
a name to my
unborn poem.
To live was to kill
the moons, asking nothing
from sun, becoming
yourself a flame.
Something you could
do. Put faith in me
and go, pluck
the roses.
My vessel was empty.
I am pouring in some
brainy thoughts to woo you.
"You wanted to givea name to
"You wanted to give
a name to my
unborn poem."
That is ageless, quotable material, in and of itself. But yet, to limit the value of the poem to that triplet of lines would be an remarkable undertaking of injustice towards the pen. :) This is, quite simply, special in a most lasting sense. The muse must be, as well.