Poetry

Tangled clues
with sensuous sparring;
the incense was rising from the blue moon.

It was body's integrity,
a lender was demanding
when lust had become prodigal.

Behind the thin veil, red eyes
stared unblinkingly
at the portrait of a nude zero.

When the light was nodding from a crown
the darkness spat on the feet
which walked on the roses.

A single thorn will not be envious
of the licking fingers.
A dropp of blood will tell the truth.



Satish Verma