Satish Verma Poems
Turns me on
I will write a poem.
Delirious moon had
picked me up from under the skin.
The safety pin was broken,
now a crowd will disrobe me.
Everytime when my pain makes you cry
oranges are not meant for the sale.
A collegium will stich up the wound.
Once upon a caste the country will go.
• On reading Orange Crush of Simone Muench.
Unshackled, the pallor moon
was lying still, in a white?
shroud of clouds, only face
I have come afar,
from the whispering dark,
to annul my existence.