Treasure Island

Satish Verma

(5-6-1935)

CURVATURE


The visible was most
invisible.

Watching the moon
through veil.

A bomb explodes
in your hands.
The poem wavers-

and then falls on dew.

This was not bone-green;
original,
not a fake cloud –

to kiss the feet
of a burning god.

It was natural conjugation
between enemies.

Submitted: Friday, February 11, 2011
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