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Satish Verma

Dark Feet

Overnight I have turned
grey, stuck on the threshold
of a song

which does not cry
parting the mist
of the eyes.

Why should not,
the humming bird stop
becoming voiceless?

O bystander,
wakeup the moon
night will fall now glittering.

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Aftertaste

That targeted sleep will not come
at once
in the tamed night.

A shifted pain
lifts the irretrievable word
shamed at edge.

The godwings
weave the rhyme of flight
for the wedding of death.

You are born again
in sleep
for another journey.

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Gestures

A killer moon
blinks
in a mating dance.

Smothered by kisses
frugal night
seethes with anger.

In synchronized,
house of limbs -;
the pink underside.

Fireflies
lost the way
between light and dark.

Of sunflowers
and a nude
lies a tale.

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Fluting

Time unleashed from ferrum
becomes pain
like a palm moon.

A tableau vivant was gliding
on the road.
It was a night of rage.

A frozen scene
undulates the history of fire
in the eyes of a flute.

Who was breaking
the clouds
wading in reeds?

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Return Of The Poet

It is autumn
grapes are bleeding.


The orange color
seeps into your eyes.
Will you shut the green lids?

You,
start reading backward.
Atavistic instinct
to dig up the severed hands?

Your house,
died
in the flower bed.
Seeds were crying.

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Muttering

Miranda:
talk to your restive soul,
elementally abstract.

Home –
was minimal comfort,
for the flying birds.

Clock,
to explode today
on your face.

You were eying
the bride,
in turbulent sky.

Who had
brought the moon
at Agave’s feet?

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Notes

The absent moon
in a tea cup
without milk.

Lips reaching moon
like a reprimand.
A spider’s kiss.

Unmothered story,
contempt untitled:
Surface-tension.

The speed of
space in motion
like winter smoke.

The sun
buried the snow
in your eyes.

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Denuding

Wearing a skin
where flesh had melted
in blankness.

The moon was sitting
on window
parting the curtains

The sunset
accepts the death
as final verdict

Small scholars
will find out the pain
of molesting.

Estrogen untamed
on street
rises in arches.

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Eternity

Pearl – drops
on your upper lip:
heat –
of a stand-off
between
inside and outside.

More spiritual
I become
forgetting
the black eye,
I want to go back
with empty hands.

My home
is far away,
doorless,
roofless,
where dark squints at the moon.

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Issueless

It was for a bridge:
water issue,
without a river.

We were fighting
for the tongues
on a wordless journey.

The unlucky sex
was on fire
after the explosion.

Hands off the
mouth. Life was
eating death.

The bells will
not ring today.
God was dead.

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