On the blue icicles
you were colliding with orbiting electrons

naked legs on rocking chair
were expecting the visual words to spook

for clairvoyance with the sun decline beyong borders

my eyes are damp, I know the bottom
was echoing after the shipwreck nevertheless,
archives were swimming in muddy water.

Can you defeat the throb of pain?

The fake drunkenness of bailouts, it was
still not happening – the whiteness of dawn, only
gray clouds over the peaks, speckled with

orange blooms, the shadows of red blood,
a million despairs of avenging marriages
of voices in dark sea.

Satish Verma