Meditating Again

Satish Verma

Adoration short of
consonants, was a sin
of little gods.

My silent prayers
beseeched you again, like
humming raindrops.

Kiss my bodiless
sleep in sad poems, when
the scars of words start

Not to wake pain,
I held your hand for
eternity to write my epic.

I fumble, I forget.
The days I don't fall
in love with thorns.

Pungus's picture


your every poem is just sublime nectar of nirvana