Talking Spirit

Water has its own mind.
Becomes a rival
in the crack of a rock.

If the moon cries;
it becomes dew
on the slender grass.

The maiden love,
you will find it on
bed at night.

And when the priest
becomes featureless
it goes in the eyes of a god.

When death smiles,
it fills the glass
you drink it like elixir.

Satish Verma