Poetry

Watching the externalism
I was playing a squid in deep waters
to save the raging sears of life.

Was it a soft intellect to believe
in goodness, when rains had ceased to come
and seeds were covered with mildew?

The farming of words
had overlooked the fires.
The smoldering was inside the anthem.

This fall I will not see the colors.
Sun had eloped with the moon
and leaves had curled like a promise.


Satish Verma