Thoughts In Wind

Talking to you
in a dream, shadow of
my lips falls on your
face.

It was a strange
knowingness.

You wanted to give
a name to my
unborn poem.

To live was to kill
the moons, asking nothing
from sun, becoming
yourself a flame.

Something you could
do. Put faith in me
and go, pluck
the roses.

My vessel was empty.
I am pouring in some
brainy thoughts to woo you.

Satish Verma