Tranquility Poem by Satish Verma

Holding the thought before it
is born. Let the void become
pregenant first-
and it starts raining.

It was a serene melting
point, when I accepted the price
of giving away. I will not
take any mantra, any hand.

A perfect blending with
unknown; to put back the
sea in a bowl. Even the cloud
will enter into a blade of grass.

No faith. No ritual. I believe
in roving dust, which makes
the stars, the blaze, and
the brilliant light.