Will you wait for me
till the moon parts the clouds
and the lake looks serene?
A reticent encounter;
I want to speak through─
silence. A shadow play will do.
Mystic nights weave─
a conspiracy. The insects
hover like words.
A lamp? No I will
burn my bridges to illuminate
the river.
Between the math─
and a story lies
the bloody corpse.
Satish Verma