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Reading Arthur Rimbaud
Folder:
Satish Verma Dressed to assassinate,
not having much hope.
Were you really―
serious for me?
Like en face
a star giggles, between
quivering small moons.
The night is drunk. You
hear a long hoot, from
enfant terrible, to scare away
the kiss of inevitable.
What a bliss to live
in the black heart of the moment,
when the sun unwraps
the flame.
Complete annihilation
of million desires. You
become the walking death
of unknown.
You are such a good writer
These are somewhat densely written in a way that I can't quite put my finger on the idea being portrayed, but I sense the spirit of it. It reminds me of a breakup, and a revelation of a deep love all at once