Satish Verma Poet I do not know?

Small Talk

Surge in hidden chastity
enters the torch but the enemy
was within.

Brown clouds over the black carbon,
glaciers were melting;
the assault rifle stands alone in snow.

This was not ignorance,
a purposeful denial of white truce
in the jungle of lizards.

I would go where nobody wants
to tread in night. The hanging years
of marriage gone wrong.

O my God, tiger at the door,
demanding a new babe every moon.
The flesh will extract its own blood.


Satish Verma

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John Rhinem June 1, 2011 at 8:53 AM Ps. Smile ~ Sweeet Satish ~ Twas Passing Back By ~ Thought That I ~ Would Stop In ~ Again ~ To Give Your Sweeetness ~ A Ruby Red Kissss ~ Love, John!:) ~

John Rhinem June 1, 2011 at 8:03 AM Smile ~ Tis a very well written poem, lovely Satish. Profound in its voice, its possibilities of, one thing or another....I consider my own blood, and I smile knowing, that I myself, would gladly pour into a cup for, tis merely blood; no more no less.... ~ Great Poe ~ Love, John!:) ~