It Was No Magic

Satish Verma

When you would be absent, 
O Druid, I will know you better. 
Time leaps my watch― 
I have become blind. 

It was not enough to 
read― that was not written yet. 
I am coming down the mountain 
to meet the dust. 

Life was not very kind to me. 
Too much undoings had given 
me a white sheet to― 
write the names of fugitives. 

I sweep the floor, I wash 
the black earth and shut― 
the windows. Too much knowing 
had made me a dwarf.

allets's picture


"the names of fugitives" - I see my poetry as that too :D