Talking To Me

The feel of killing
will not go, till you think-
the time was over,
Under the flared up moon.

The interface shrinks.
Light blends with dark.
An abbreviated space becomes
water and you sink in a jar.
The skin turns into
veil and you hide into the
soul.Somewhere a voiceless
command hauls you up.
What was the purpose
of trembling fear of
unknown fall, when you
were standing at the edge of a pink?
I was learning from you,
the alphabet of birth and
dying.The eternity will not listen
to any defence.

Satish Verma