On Burning Coals

Loneliness of non-being and, reality, fill up the vessel. I search for the eloquence while, emptiness will be my forte. Countless words are crossing like a promise in milk-white days I gather sunlight through grass leaves. Life had been full of shadows, lengthening, penetrating the tapestry of love. The descent was steep. Coming home I found no humming words. Sitting in dark I wait for shooting stars. Measuring the blood, drawn from our hurts was a royal reward for your fingers. You are allowed to compare blood with brown coffee. Sand in our eyes, we walked bare-foot on burning coals. SATISH VERMA