Satish Verma
Soundless Sleep
Giving yourself,
a gift of trash, you were
waiting for the pain to return.
A shadow overtakes you
as if you were
walking on the dry lake bed.
An abandoned thought
becomes a philosopher.
How not to live again.
The birder meets a rainstorm,
on journey to unknown.
The poet and water become one.
Not easy to finish the
line. Something has remained
unsaid. The vultures descend.
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