Satish Verma, 18 stycznia 2012
Like illegitimate sons
becoming nephews.
Stay with me I have lost
my ink.
An underground knife
cuts you to wrist,
you bleed on paper.
It was a tip of trust failure
after a wake up call by a loner;
the molten lava will find another
sexual pursuit.
There was nothing left to be
concealed, after the bonfires of veils.
The celibate tears come unbidden
I am going to encounter the pool.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 18 stycznia 2012
Pieces of day falling like
severed limbs of time.
Acoustic shadows
drinking the pain.
Exodus has started
of thoughts to find an
enabler, for misting voices
of indecisiveness.
Obscene contour abrupts
the ink. Now there is blank
depression, behind the globes.
Cubes have become toeless.
The night has locked itself in,
when suddenly grief becomes the sun.
The celestial makeup was melting.
We are becoming naked, like pupils.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 18 stycznia 2012
After a grand design
there was a white leap
to find a boat in darkness.
Time was dusting the frame
of memory, and the age
will grieve for the lost vision.
The pace of assaults will
increase over the burning windows.
This was my priviledge.
The tongue tastes a superbug.
Some celestial entity, guideless
but ready to rub on the flame.
Here lies the moon of beaten stars.
Nothing was terrible
in greasing the naked groom.
Satish Verma
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