Struck By Moon

Satish Verma

The cosmic touch.
I was facing moon,
thinking, about the end of
universe and millions
of blue butterflies.

Someone didn't want to die
in snow-white shroud.
A severed hand
fires a gun.

How much was your timeless
wait? I may disappear
in the dots and dashes. Would you
be asking for courage to come?

The cruel realties. You
don't want to look back. The
weeping willow will not
stand erect.

The temple was waste
without a goddess of love.
The return of requiem
makes me sad.