SUMMER'S FAULT

It was like homecoming of
timber rattle snake.
A bit jarring.

Signs were acquitted,
when the summer becomes
sensuous at dusk.

I start collecting the colors
from sky. The night was
moving behind the moon-

like a concubine, in black
skirt. Amidst the gray clouds
a green man was laughing.

The death's translation
was simple. Nobody will
attend the funeral of sun.

Satish Verma