Poezja

Still talking to a ghost
in oblique manner
about sexuality.

A centuary plant has not
bloomed;
wants to die.

The loincloth covers
the ocean floor
where it shipwrecked.

A fake will do.
God was on dialysis.
Chemistry of kiss did not work.

Between bullets and bread
grievers will descend
for a lost saviour.


Satish Verma