Measuring The Scales

Was it a lunar effect,
I ask the fading light?
And my future invaded the magenta moon.

The saddest lips will
not tell the violence of uncluttered
words, that had wounded the heart.

I wanted to forget, my
foes, my friends― who framed
the charges against the mind bending quality
of my poems.

And here you stand
unsteadly in my vision, to fall
or not to fall in my trembling arms.

There were no beds
in the sea of daffodils. Either
you sit on the beach, counting the waves
or go very deep at the bottom.

Tell the watchman to
open the door of whispers.

Satish Verma