Black Sun

by Satish Verma

Witch-hazel jumps the
gun. Questions arise.
Why the cuckoo will not sing today?

I am drumming the wall
raised between us,
opening a small window towards the sea.

Strange things happen.
Full moon was bleeding
Astringent. I call for the mountain's music.

This fractured statecraft.
You become a stone after a blast;
moving towards the periphery.

Half-naked a statuette
was walking in the night to find a
mortuary where Apollo was laid to rest.

08-Jun-2013

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