Poetry

You were not normal.
Relentlessly you were trying
to kiss the flame.

Agni, goddess of fire
still invites. When nightingale
comes, you undo earthly pain.

To recover the lost
poem, black rose still haunts.
A jewel twirls in your brown eyes.

Erotica? No beyond
that. A desire sits on the lips of
bee-sting, the words wait.

Sylvia Plath, where
are you. I have still not
understood you. The Venus cries.