Poetry

A hidden self portrait
in a tar pit
I do not want to explore further.

Wind was making a big sound
the tarp blowing off,
I stand naked under the scortching sun.

A classless pain rises fiercely
I am careless about my height
amdist tall peaks.

Hypodermic, my little dachshund
holds the time in small paws
and plays with my stasis.

I loose my taste of salt on lips
charting between the tears
of infant fears.

Satish Verma