In Fog

Cannot see through,
when you
take different avtars.

Deeply quiet, I want
to be defeated
in your hands,
like a small Buddha.

Who walks in my poems
when the god fails?

When the blueprint
appears on the moon, I empty
my glass of Aconite.
The snake sleeps for
my self-esteem.

Here and there,
I find you in every rhyme.
After the dawn
whispers would die.

Satish Verma