Treasure Island

Satish Verma

(5-6-1935)

FEELING HOT


It was middle noon
on the deserted street.
Nobody will come out
to greet the sun.

You will lift the fallen leaves
to soften the blow,
corrupting the morality
crouching in the shadow.

A slumber was needed
to get the head shaven.
Touching the dust,
the heat, the winds.

Dig a sinking hole
deep in the heart.
It will suck all your tears
all your salt.

Submitted: Friday, May 17, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, September 11, 2013
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