INCOMPLETE MAKING
Started forgetting the names
No coming,
becoming
standing on the street
watching the feelings evaporate.
No counting
measuring was of any use.
Doing nothing was a bliss when something went amiss
when head was high
and legs were weak
where to go
where to sleep.
When did you lose,
when did you win ?
When were you saint,
when did you sin ?
Minute to minute
you lived in time
grain to grain
you had no crime.
The making was still incomplete,
half was the moon in mid stream.
SATISH VERMA
