Poezja

Turns me on
I will write a poem.

Delirious moon had
picked me up from under the skin.

The safety pin was broken,
now a crowd will disrobe me.

Everytime when my pain makes you cry
oranges are not meant for the sale.


A collegium will stich up the wound.
Once upon a caste the country will go.



• On reading Orange Crush of Simone Muench.

Satish Verma