Poetry

How will you carry the mount of tears
in the vally of temples? Kites flowing
in sky of beings-egos-denials and
repeals.

Smiling at pain I unspeak to a keeper
of cage, under the shadow of golden
roses, walking with blue eyes of private
hymns.

I craved and dispossessed myself in the
rainy convulsions. The stupidity of
invoking rainbows. In tall grasses
the eyes were looking for the brazen
clouds.

And I am arrived today at the quirky
revealation to exist or not to
exist amids the crouching facts, trees
down shedding the arms and legs
always.


Satish Verma