Satish Verma

(5-6-1935)

SUMMER’S FAULT


It was like homecoming of
timber rattle snake.
A bit jarring.

Signs were acquitted,
when the summer becomes
sensuous at dusk.

I start collecting the colors
from sky. The night was
moving behind the moon-

like a concubine, in black
skirt. Amidst the gray clouds
a green man was laughing.

The death’s translation
was simple. Nobody will
attend the funeral of sun.

Submitted: Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Edited: Thursday, September 12, 2013
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