Searching Peace

Satish Verma

Unravished the
black moon was down
but not out.

I am being watched.
How the poem
prints itself on heart.

Curled up with
flower thoughts, staring
aimlessly in black void.

Wanted a brutally
honest truth, moon struck
but ready to give blond.

Who was desireless
being a saint. Paradox
always wins.