It was a broken lamp,
the orphean tragedy.
You were found sexless
in a naked bowl.

Making love on hay
the moon crashed/on moonstones.
Memory of shells tossed on bed
of roses/was still alive.

The divine leaf falls/opens the
scars of plums. Immoral,
a white tiger pounces on a
rimless scream.

Covered with crocus you break
the brown hills. Through touch
I meet you in dark. My green hands
hold you in folded palms like a firefly.

Satish Verma