At the dance of the naked moon
a single leaf quivers
I go into trance.
A fetus in womb turns.
The first appearance
of the magnitude:
a sad cloud leans on the horizon.
Hostility of the summer
is melting in blue sky.
It will never end.
The eternal soft music of silk
the death had been hunting.
I will call for a song-
I need a transcendental soul
to sing an elegy for my unborn revolution.
Give me a hand,
a presence, a touch.
My fading blanket of stars.
at the golden gate
was not a voyage
to total emptiness.
When the assault comes
I confront the sad poems
stained by blood.
A solitude of corners
is better than arrogant curves.
Satish Verma