In the dark of Night, the celestial beauty of the universe
comes into its own, illuminating the firmament.
Galaxies, still in the throes of the Big Bang,
swirl in an infinite sea of ebony.
And shooting stars,
sojourners to Earth;
weave, visual threads into the fabric of time and space.
Chamaeleon clouds bleeding red at the horizon's cutting-edge
hang low, so as not to besmirch the grandeur of Night.
And Venus, like the mythical Goddess of beauty, outshines the stars;
rising between Mercury and Earth, She lingers in regal repose;
caught within gravity's invisible currents.
A colony of bats spirals into the air, like a phoenix
rising from the ashes of a spent sun.
And a chill runs down my spine as I stand in awe,
in the presence of God's miraculous creation.
I came across you in the desert one day
with your big bulging eyes, scaly armour,
don't know why you panicked and turned a dark grey,
since Culture Club sang you were calmer.
I'd love to have seen other colours you do
from sky blue to grass green, muddy brown,
but you crawled round and round on my patterned beach towel
and suffered a nervous breakdown.
Delta. I was the fourth child.
The delta connection of a
triangular love. No blues.
Only cottony belly.
My copper coins. I want to save
them for making talismans.
My arms are entwined like
a python around the neck of a medusa.
That hairy push of a trident.
The stinging tentacles. The
polyp was enlarging. Now the
snake was shedding the skin.
Statesmen. They change their colour
like chamaeleon. Prehensile
tail trailing behind the witch-
craft of black goddess.
Satish Verma
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