Soundless Sleep

Giving yourself,
a gift of trash, you were
waiting for the pain to return.

A shadow overtakes you
as if you were
walking on the dry lake bed.

An abandoned thought
becomes a philosopher.
How not to live again.

The birder meets a rainstorm,
on journey to unknown.
The poet and water become one.

Not easy to finish the
line. Something has remained
unsaid. The vultures descend.

Satish Verma