WHO WAS ME?

A misbelief 
breaks into rags. 
Still I dream of some gods 
on black pages 

piecing together the words 
of light. The rains come 
in the cage of tears, 
voicelessly. 

Striated muscles of splintered faith 
go to cramps birthing 
the avatar 
without a mother. 

I will pick up now 
nothingness 
from the bounty of silence, 
of a stunning question.

Satish Verma