Gold-Tipped
At that time
I was thinking something else
when you gave me a half-kiss,
my winter naked moon.
A souvenir left by sun
for the sake of night. I remembered
pink roses
unpetaling green thighs-
for quest of shelter in civil war
of reminiscences.Merciful was the landslide
which buried the whispers of
dead dreams.
Unpretending, unleaping, the ocean
sucks the grief of clouds. The
rains have started a dance
for the suicidal gods.
Satish Verma
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