Poezja

A brown cloud descends
on charcoal sketch.
Moonstruck, a blast begins.

Marigold, beware:
sun is going to hide
behind the stings.

The fang penetrates deep,
in the breast
of sleeping pride.

A golden god
melts in the arms
of mercy.

The lips suck the blue poison
of the hymns.
The saint was a killer.

I am a ravaged path
who wants nothing
from the feet!


Satish Verma