Poetry

You have put up the price on your shirt.
I have started seeing the return
of the death instinct. The curtain falls
on profile of joy, of giving away.

A solid swelling of clotted ego
of antimatter shows frugality
in spending of laughter. It was
a total consumption of beautiful lips.

That was that, of hollowness of globes
and golden peacocks. A seed of mildew
implants a kiss on the nakedness of greed.
How far the want will go in dark

for the scent of transgression?
Today I am going to meet a blind angel.



Satish Verma