blemish of the needle in eye spreads :
do you still see the moon in the hills,
outstripping the aura of midnight ?
resilient, waiting for a renaissance, for
a finger on the lips in dark, to read the
symptoms, feeling floral in wilderness,
the reclining Buddha will speak now,
on stillbirth of a truth in valley of lies,
telling them the god was sleeping
in sorrows of world, the spider looks like a
man’s face, moving with large belly on the
dried corpses of hapless ants, the art of
dying, without pain, when the plane was
diving, splitting into two, unconscious of
pins and butterballs, in the mouth of mantis
SATISH VERMA
If I do not know you, you probably should go away,
as you have no reason to be at my door,
other than to save my soul, borrow something,
sell me some sugary treat, or to disturb my work and meditation in some way.
Take this as a hint – you will not be greeted,
whether I am home or not.
I may be watching you through the lens in the door or drawing a picture of you, or maybe,
just maybe, writing a poem about you while you wait for me answer your ring.
Do not leave anything at the door unless it was ordered from a supplier or is a bona fide
delivery.
By leaving anything at my door, you are accepting my contract to bill you for disposal and
handling. the minimum charge is twelve dollars.
This goes for you, too, Krishna.
The Management
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