Poetry

I collect the unknown fears,
better than the known.
Winds start a virgin dance
of reeds.
There was a music for a monk
I prepare myself
to run into the storm.

You are not, what you pretend to be
and I also don’t need to see the ugly inside.
Enigma for apology,
to erode the authority-
for which you carry a mask, to beat the truth.

Where and when we will meet
for interpretations? Sleep may bring
a quick death of a nova
unravel the secret
of a flying prayer.


Satish Verma