Short Antiquarian Poems

An unusual melody,
a reticent antiquarian
I will wear my galloping age
with your dark eyes. 

The lines were drawn
in the crocus fields.
We were fighting for the wild
immitative geckoes.

A toad stumbles out from the eyelids
of a zero hour. You will not
touch the counterfeit of questions
thrown at the meadows.

Evening of life celebrates
the failures. In the beginning
there were no lights.
End came with a red moon.



Satish Verma...

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