satishverma

A FAMILY DUST

A thirsty town fails, harvesting the moon, 
and turns into a vast lake of tears. 
They were fighting for their right to remain 
poor and hungry. It was a fractured 
amnesia in the pit of flesh. 

Was it a pink rose? No one had planted 
a kiss on the lips of a thorn. An unbuttoned 
triangle snaps the cold and opens the thighs 
of a tulip valley. Drop by dropp honeydew 
dances into a hairy lap. 

The shooting stars go into trance, multiply 
the intimate minutes and indulge in 
sprouting the horns. The longest night feels 
betrayed and beseeches foremothers to 
conceive again. 




Satish Verma

Satish Verma