Come and meet me in chamber of death
where the tempest comes every night.

I start disrobing the anger
to find the eye of the moon.

Where do I get that ink that
writes an unwritten poem on water
of eyes when the ship was
burning after a rare landing.

Come and meet me in sleep of an infant.

It was time to start a dialogue
with golden death sitting on the
greed of man. The lips were extracting
the other honey from frozen moon.

Come and meet me in merciless sun.

Satish Verma