Golden Cut

Living without you,
locking horns with unhappenings.

May not harm you,
my imaginary pride
in your shape.

Remember,
when you dreamed of crossing the
crescent gate of moon?

Your audacious leap
into dark to wade into the
mortgage of future?

I was frozen,
standing in the crowd of incandescent
fireflies― heart felt.

My letters will not
reach you, after the dynasty grows
pale, pure as the setting sun.

The lake will not die.
It will keep the secret.

Satish Verma