Short Unmourned Poems

You were not present.
Far from the pallid sky- 
in the graveyard, 
the marbled tears 
had become the eyes.

The meanness of the grill.
It will not fix the sun.
I stand by a river,
which was very thirsty-	
very deep.

The silent flight of a 
white falcon takes a dive- 
for the darkned moon.
The wingless poem soars high 
to catch the words. 

The jacarandas were trumpeting 
in blue flowers, of the return 
of demigods.



Satish Verma...

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