Treasure Island

Satish Verma

(5-6-1935)

YOURS ONLY


A city prepares to die.
What is the real time now
for blemishing the skin of a man?

In your violet eyes
I will find a moon
for an encounter.

An alien wall comes up
between us.We cannot shed
the veils of clouds.

I hate brother, hate the
ambassadors of death
in the voluptuousness of greed.

Remember,
O my shadow,
dying was a great art.

Submitted: Saturday, September 10, 2011
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