Poetry

When the curtain falls, the puzzled instinct
inherits the confusion of clouds. The beleaguered
moon goes into a rage. Hungry vultures start
a wait for the fall of a titan, stimulating the sun

to exhibit the trove of the golden rings. Go
blackberries, with bloody roses into the dawn.

Whole night our bones had gone crazy. Flickering
like stars on the lake of speechless body.

All his life he was searching for the windows
to let in the fire for burning up the boots.


Satish Verma