Poezja

For my water god I entered the wetlands.
Fog was increasing and me becoming incoherent.

The swamp throws a high tide of rolling wave
I lift the burden of bones and take a plunge in darkness.

The holy moon gives the company in yellow mood
smelling of honey and rusted-red mulberries.

A maxim inside the solitude hurts the path
where I lost my innocence for a son.

A breeze, a cloud, a beautiful sky
I carry the dust of my home wherever I go.

The wreckage was intact, past was shining.
An octopus was sending the suckers for future.



Satish Verma