Of Unknown Roots

Tying loose
threads,
to become sane.

The healing touch was
waning. Only the ruins of
past glory shines in starlight.

Were you a witness
of crucifixion? Or binding on
the stake for the burning?

Like a flower girl you
come to scatter the rose petals
in front of the bride of moon.

Do not go naked
in the vault of pain. You will
show all the bruises of epilogue.

The book remains incomplete.
I have come to meet the prince of
pranks. There was a
mystical touch.

Satish Verma