Landscape Speaks

Satish Verma

Poster poems appear 
again with all frozen insignias. 
I was trying to find a good 
remedy, for insomnia. 

You wash your moon― shined 
face, like a swan gliding 
on lips. There was no surgery. 

A cuckoo has gone 
dumb. Wants a Victorian era 
of silver coins. 

And the underbelly 
lies bare for the spiders 
to ride the whistling pains. 

Time stoppers were 
ready to light the pyres. They 
was no other home for death. 

You kill the mini ants 
running on the mirror. Were 
you seeking revenge?