Poezja

Sperms spilled on thighs
When moon was hung over trees
To engage reverberations,

Contesting erratic moods
Outside echoes
Stitching white milk into black tears,

It was not for the deliverance
From pain of separation
And drink the eyes:

The waves died in immensity
Somewhere a dolphin dips in mind
To pick up the music

Of fences, separating ethos
And gossips of terrified oceans
Searching the sunken ship.



Satish Verma