Satish Verma
Summer’s Fault
It was like homecoming of
timber rattle snake.
A bit jarring.
Signs were acquitted,
when the summer becomes
sensuous at dusk.
I start collecting the colors
from sky. The night was
moving behind the moon-
like a concubine, in black
skirt. Amidst the gray clouds
a green man was laughing.
The death’s translation
was simple. Nobody will
attend the funeral of sun.
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