Saviour Was Sad

Moon strips in
grey hours, to transcend
the scream of virgin pain.

Too proud to
knock the door of locked
colossus of retreat.

The anniversary
has the solemn occasion
to pay homage to flint.

First poem was
written for unborn you
in my turbulent life.

The stranger now
walks alone in wilderness
to find you.

Satish Verma