Satish Verma
Landscape Speaks
Poster poems appear
again with all frozen insignias.
I was trying to find a good
remedy, for insomnia.
You wash your moon― shined
face, like a swan gliding
on lips. There was no surgery.
A cuckoo has gone
dumb. Wants a Victorian era
of silver coins.
And the underbelly
lies bare for the spiders
to ride the whistling pains.
Time stoppers were
ready to light the pyres. They
was no other home for death.
You kill the mini ants
running on the mirror. Were
you seeking revenge?
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