Lunar Touch

The space covers me now. Words stayed too long beyond the thoughts of I and my landscape. A burst of silence soaks me. What was history, a voyage to rough awakening? Absence of a voice makes me suffer again. My religion burns. Life is a dark smoke I will write a message on your palm. Give me a breather, the distances make me sad. Black dust drifts through the slits of our predictions. At least I know what I am. On a sunny day I break a mirror. My fingers slide like scissors, open the envelope. I know it has a sermon, I don’t want to read. The depression has a lunar touch. I break a flower into hundred petals. SATISH VERMA