Poetry

Myriad of grasshoppers were sitting
on the leapless bush
celebrating the earth.

I was never happy
with the anniversary of thirst
eating the memories of green.

His hand rummages
to collect the shrunk berries
from my chest.

Today the sun will step down
in honour of a cloud
who opened a hole in a collider

I am the mother
and I am the father
of a homeless moon.


Satish Verma