THE CANDLE BURNS

Not a single word added today 
to my tinsel book. The brown eyes 
were searching my smile. 

You want to close the happening 
of first moon and the fig. 
My roses start a new dialect, 

waiting on the clouds, almost 
in rains, spreading the wetting 
agent between the eyes. 

The distance was the most crucial 
thing, that does not end; 
endlessly stretching.

Satish Verma