ARROGANT CURVES

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