For my water god I entered the wetlands.
Fog was increasing and me becoming incoherent.
The swamp throws a high tide of rolling wave
I lift the burden of bones and take a plunge in darkness.
The holy moon gives the company in yellow mood
smelling of honey and rusted-red mulberries.
A maxim inside the solitude hurts the path
where I lost my innocence for a son.
A breeze, a cloud, a beautiful sky
I carry the dust of my home wherever I go.
The wreckage was intact, past was shining.
An octopus was sending the suckers for future.
Satish Verma
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