Poetry

Will you save me
when I take the call of the lake?
The swishing depth was inviting me
for a plunge in the purple pool.

How deep was the pain of a mountain?
The domain was again ailing
with subtle rumors of
a massive landslide.

An escaped love of a thorn
was splittimg open the embrace
of me and my mask. Totally denuded,
a face was dusting off all the self-made
marks of inflictions.

Will you walk with me now
up to the stormy night, where I have
a house of candles keeping a vigil
for a coffin of unflowered seeds?


Satish Verma