Returning to past
you tend to remain all mum,
murmuring nothing.

Measuring speed
of light coming from my eyes
without spilling dark.

What burns up, ejects
the sparks on your shroud
of three parting words.


Satish Verma

Greek Tragedy 28 October 2018

Where blue meets the
red, I will bring moon to cross
you river of tears.

Thousand suns away
the pygmy god sleeps in thatched
hut, to feel the pain.

When you swim in my
eyes, I become an ocean
to drown the deity.