After Rumi Poem by Satish Verma
After Rumi
A secret moon
climbs.
There was a sudden
drop of height.
All along you were
there, inside me―
to hold my tremors.
I will try to recall
a lost call from horizon.
The triangle breaks.
The born, an unborn,
and the maker perish.
Only the designer
will survive.
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5/17/2024 1:13:26 PM # 1.0.0.1119
