Satish Verma

Gold Star - 35,923 Points (5-6-1935)

Beauty - Poem by Satish Verma

In the dust storm
a discarded moon
sat in my lap.

Then internal rhythm
crashed.
Amorphic I would not find the music

of words translated into a kiss.
Gold started weeping
in my hands.

The clouds will rest
after committing a sin,
of letting out the sun.


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, May 11, 2010



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