Poezja

Winter has stopped indulging.
Brown body of summer
longs for the full lips of moon.
I become saddened
tracking time.

Desire is now a temple
outraged by sun
starts a dialogue with winds.

Grey hills kill the songs
and empty life again fills in
the cargo of memories.

Silence is cool, ticks like a clock
breaks a stone
and melts into night.

I prepare to die again
amidst the disguises of fidelities.


* A Phrase from Les Murray.


Satish Verma