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A Monument
Folder:
Satish Verma Wanting to feel your breath
in this room, in half-light, my hands
opened the window to let him in,
the green moon.
For so much violence in everyday life.
let’s break a poem and sqeeze its honey
and carve only feet, of invisible fear.
When I had run after a dream
the frills of your gown caught fire;
at the door a music stopped
to listen to rustling of a caged bird
longing for the green flight of a silent
morning joining a procession of a recent
mythical hurt.
