Speaking One's Thought Poem by Satish Verma

Not able to sing─
you have become the song.

You will make me very poor
by giving charity.

It was a black dahlia, ready
to beset the moon in lunar eclipse.

And the word implant was not
appropriate. It has become toxic.

Downward you search the seeds
in dark. The spirits waiting in wings.

Death was the most beautiful thing
to happen on the stage before-

the play starts. I will invite
my paramour to light the lamp.