Like black birds
homing in twilight, to the tree
my thoughts make a perfect landing.
I lift the silence in sleep.
A flying snake enters
a pink room.
A bullet pierces the heart.
No acolytes, I will
catch myself the drifting smell
of eternal caress. Basking
in pain I pluck up my
trail in rubble of dreams.
You defy the likeness to god
become poor like an undershirt.
and walk straight.
Satish Verma
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem