-- Distant Shores

Twilight song of a cuckoo taps the window softly. Gothic tree and drooping sky humble my thoughts. Past was me. I will know then why your hills turned away my clouds by shifting sands. Was it a colossal guilt of tomorrow? Which never wanted to become present and enter my house. But my memory was sharp and days were numbered. I wanted to invite the death discreetly while praising the life and listening to birds without dropping the history from my crooked fingers. Between yourself and myself a sea was surreptitiously raging. The waves were dividing the shores. SATISH VERMA