Naïve Innocence

O pink horse, O timeless sun,
run on my body, run. Black magic
had pierced the needles into my heart.

Lying on nails to wrest a superearth
from amnesty, I start bandaging the bruised
ethos of my native conscience –

on the spike of a violence, refusing
to give up my home to fire, tending
the voiceless flora of a virgin rock.

The questions stand up, against
the black walls of silence. The blue birds
are going to fly in white desert.

Satish Verma

poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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