Poem Hunter
In Mud House
(5-6-1935 / )

In Mud House

Poem By Satish Verma

Let the opus begin
in evening robes. Your hazel
eyes will speak,
will not shame the knifed trust.

Still dazed, I trip
against the mirror. I have always
spoiled me. Following your stars you move
with feline grace in charity
for truth of unknown.

I felt connected to some
invisible spirit in many shades.
The body smells the soul
of strange thoughts, you could't catch.

Under heavy foliage
sleeps the sun. I go for
your trembling hands.
A grueling travail begins
to find you.

You become a magical
crystal ball. I can see through you.
Twin loaves cry.

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