The Tragic Intimacy
A crisp moon rejects the night,
the words retreat, like fallen truths.
Stillness was palpable
silhouettes moved in vacancy.
And we did not know where to go,
how to find the cause of life.
World surged forward like a spider.
The dust, the heat
and a breathing sorrow
met in the twilight
of immaculate pain.
I hated the drooping lights
and burning of feathers.
Birds were dumb
to say how cruel
the benevolence had been.
I fell upon a thorn
who witnessed my incarceration.
A fire in my eyes, I glowed like a volcano.
Fogs were hanging
like veils on eyes of moon.
I tasted lichens in mouth.
The tragic intimacy
of an old poem.
Satish Verma's Other Poems
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
(1207 - 1273)
(20 October 1854 – 10 November 1891)
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