Satish Verma

Crossing my path,
a full moon, wants
to respect the untitled
poem birthing in me.

Where my earthly
thoughts would wear flesh
seeking attention, for
the poverty of roots and words.

We were bound by
colored stones, jewels and
angels of water and flames,
where rooms divide
the people.

Fire ants will carry
a large leaf to cover the home
as a hymen to warlords
before the earthquake starts.