Misted

A Poem by Satish Verma

Misted

One thought we would
share, but won't talk.
A round moon offers
the childhood innocence.

Did you touch
my hand to transmit
a galaxy of bright
revelation?

The blood moon was
once hacked to death,
when you refused
to kiss the burning candle
of epiphanic moment.

A superembrace
sets you free from the
shackles of commitment
to become earthly shadow.

Untouched I cannot find
the title of incomplete life.