Satish Verma

June 5, 1935

Coming Back To You

Becoming tainted without
a stain, seeing
you in dark, untouching.

Why do you draw
a circle around you― keeping
out the center?

Voicelessly,
a howling call― per
mistake, disturbs the slumber.
Moon had yet to leave.

The grace of crying
wordlessly. Buddha sleeps
again on side, through
the vacant mind. Partial amnesia?

The gift of the angles
against the dots. I was
left with hyphens only.
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