To save the last bruise,
after an encounter with
a kiss of the breaking rock and melting voices.
I did not want to
remember you in twilight
of dementia. There was no birthday for me.
A brown girl drowns
in my deep poems. You had become
a river without a bed.
Can you give me a
name― for my unborn child?
I loved him to measure you my mate.
After all I refuse
to die inspite of all the falls.
Beyond the bricks lies my blessings.
It were only you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem is added to the list of my favourite poems. It is such a masterpiece. You have got such a delicate brush with which you paint mysterious realities of life. Thanks a lot, Satish Verma ji. I did not want to / remember you in twilight / of dementia. You had become.... a river without a bed