by Satish Verma
Come and meet me in chamber of death
where the tempest comes every night.
I start disrobing the anger
to find the eye of the moon.
Where do I get that ink that
writes an unwritten poem on water
of eyes when the ship was
burning after a rare landing.
Come and meet me in sleep of an infant.
It was time to start a dialogue
with golden death sitting on the
greed of man. The lips were extracting
the other honey from frozen moon.
Come and meet me in merciless sun.
Last updated December 03, 2012