Poetry

Casuarina! I miss you a lot.
Why don’t you reclaim this drab century
by your drooping branches,
off from the poetry of water?


The words are dried up.
No rustling sounds, the winged
creatures broke the mirrors,
a black moon.


I am walking without legs
in the sea of encounters.
The headless groom was searching his bride
amidst fallen greens.



Satish Verma