Clouds had refused to part.
A fractured moon was walking in dismay
stroking the gazing stars.

Cornwhite belonging of ashes was
to fire, beloved sky was enchanted
with water ceremony
as a sign of gratitude to earth.

The wind decided to reverse the clock
and navigate in trees of waxing summer
blowing yellow crystals of sulphur.

A red admiral lands on a lone marigold
with detachment, surveys pollen, pie-eyed,
dangles, tilting a nod, emerges for another sortie.

If there was an action, I think in between:
live with it in fire of mind. The voyage
begins when the song of eternity starts.

Satish Verma