Poetry

Without assent
I open your book
to find your crazy god on mat.

Love was a blind bird
in a state of agony.
Learning to fly.

Moon would not reply
through aslant door.
Something was between us.

Here, now a sordid tale
breaks the taboo. They
were investing on skin.

It was a cheap wine
in a golden chalice,
for a lipless mouth.


Satish Verma