Changing Landscape
Living on shifting sands,
do not go for the rains.
One day you will become
a robber crab.
A cross-dresser you were.
My candle burns to see
your face in dim light. Moon
said, it was not yet dark.
Playing with rustling leaves
of autumn. I went on collecting
the gifts of winter like my
variant moods, yellow, brown and red !
Go and meet my deadpan
silver. It would never be my
sizzling poem. I will pour the
green river in your blue eyes.
Satish Verma
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