Bowls Are Empty

I am developing awareness
of your parted lips. Something was
left to say, your ankles had stopped ringing,

I am not a holder of
candles. Want to stay in the dark to
look at the falling moon on the burning pyre.

Barefoot I walk on the
hot ashes, after the collective suicide
of the utopia, without a war

Barefoot I walk on the
hot ashes, after the collective suicide
of the utopia, without a war

These are impressive lines, Satish jee. The way you gave importance to light in the poem is admirable.

Padma, Hyderabad, Nov 18, 2021