Banded I walk
on the dirt road,
when discreetly, your shadow falls behind me.

Melting the distance
a voice loses the sharp birthmark,
becomes perfectly an onlooker.
Where I was going?

Greed was splitting the fat.
An owl creaks.
I pick up some daisies to walk into a crypt.
New mind was some steps away.

Coming out of skin
nakedness, brings out the tears.
We have stopped speaking. Only whispers
are parting the blackness.

Satish Verma