Poezja

The hand comes out of the
rubble to throw
the musky odor
of a cross-legged
monk
under the ginkgo tree.

An apparition comes
outside the body of a fan-shaped snake;
ignites the wolf.
We were hungry, we were thirsty.
Untwining we went into the cave
for a snowgod.

Tossing the coins
in the water tank;
tying the thread onto a
ficus tree,
the weeping shepherd said-
I want nothing.

Satish Verma