LIPREADING

Overdriving
the silence in zero light,
flickers of sickle moon were
fading.

There was a conflict between
reason and
conscience. My father was
smiling.

Where was the gold, he asked
walking with his wooden─
stick in jungle of tears?
I kept the door ajar.

A smoke engulfs my eyes.
Before he died, he took
a promise from me.
I would not be visible.

Satish Verma