The Blue Lake Burns

Satish Verma

When the roaring tiger 
was behind the bars, there was 
this otherness. So much voiceless 
was that, it had wounded me. 

Your life had entered my 
dome to meet its darkness, my 
sky, my moon and the 
riot of color begins. 

By unbecoming, dying 
in every home, to write the 
script of desire, you will take 
the path, where my marrow went down. 

The clocks, on every wall 
to remind me the moving time. 
Will you wait for the explosion 
to stop the trembling hands? 

Not giving an answer you shut the door.