Poetry

A unique, irreverent intruder:
in my dying dreams,
of a domain beyond the gifts.
The corridor was full of
specters in boiling air.
The DNA will not cover the naked strands
of desires.


Put out to sea, my boat
in cloud cluster, I will meet
the eye of cyclone in its full furry.
The tempest was the moment of truth
to know the self. One night I will
become a palm tree wearing the
mask of history.


Satish Verma