The Dancing Tale

I do not remain happy
with noises of wisdom.
Time was running out on me
to know myself.

No sensory cognizance. I
touch you with my invisible
hands, stroking the hair
to dislodge the moon.

Ashes lay strewn. River
was overflowing from the
banks of limbs. I will not
come near the unfathomable

depth of a chasm, between
good and bad. Out of the bed
of roses a snake uncoils.
Praise the dark. It in night.

Satish Verma