Satish Verma

June 5, 1935

The River Between Us

Your face quivering
between my hands, how
do you stop thinking about
me?

When the wars end,
and the first moon rises,
would you come to
see my god?

The third eye opens
sometime to see the difference
between black and white
swans?

And the blessed crown
wants to know who had trained
the terrorist to demolish―
the reliability of truth.

The unknown held you.
You do not know, the end of
the thread was catastrophe.
It has a new baptism.
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