Sad Protégé

I don't recognize
you, after giving
a pause to poem.

It was an eerie
accident. I don't own
my body, and you don't
own your tears.

With solemnity, I
place my book, on the road
going nowhere. To be
read by the sun.

You buy the words
I sell the silence.

The hyphens wail.
Cost rises.

Satish Verma