Do not stoke the desires tonight,
my moon is away on the cusp of doubts.
Count you must the needles in heart, of
ifs and buts? A fragile truce was anathema
to me. The nagging day lies ahead –
of my failing gifts. Living was a whispering
silence, no secrets had a spite for you.
A fine drizzle of thoughts fills the lungs,
mind cries for the space to arrange
the corpses of dreams.
The uncertainties take a heavy toll.
A new voice precedes a wet moon,
the sun was rising late today, living apart.
SATISH VERMA
What fine words! I have felt the cusp of doubts and had not the words to tell it. The 'whispering of silence', truly haunting. Respect to you, Cal
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nice rational poem, well expressed............