Satish Verma
Star-Struck
Sitting in the sun
preparing the relic, for
future visitation.
The geranium bleeds
for the god particle, which
always eludes
the man.
A tiger would sleep
in my bed, jettisoning
the fish of your eyes.
The glass eye breaks,
enters the tomb of the orb
sheltering the darkness.
There was no clear answer-
from the mask, as if why
the tryst with stars failed.
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