(5-6-1935 / )

Will You Marry Me?

Sky weeps, I was collecting clouds
from stillness of the sea.
A snake again wants to kiss,
I am learning to die
in arms of spiral mirrors.

Cannot forgot the cheating of umbrellas.
The stings, the twists, the hollow breads.
Foams are submitting the venoms
on golden plates.
I grieve for the dignity of a hangman.

The retreat leaves the blood
on the stones. My house was burning.
Will you marry me? I ask the dew
sitting on the grass. Don’t go
back to the sun.

A relentless bucket fills up, again
I am watching at the moon.
The icy sand, the fire, the heat.
Flowers will hunt the thorns
at rooftops of sleep.

by Satish Verma

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