Poezja

Strange thoughts give words
a pain. A mountain unfolds
a tunnel.He who carries a vase of ashes
must enter the gate to plot a path

for history.Ideas have turned into stones.
A violence erupts in long winter night.
Nobody understands the bird of time
who has lost the flight.

The bones learn the absence of house
in the forest of men. You realize the anointment
of unlearning. A gaudiest opulence

comes slowly in huts. The body becomes
blue in gentle fall of skimmed silence.
A prayer has a pernicious omen.



Satish Verma