Poetry

Eating fire, but entangled
in the cobwebs,
of becoming or not becoming
a child again;
in the hollow of a maimed body
looking beyond the opaque
hirsutism
of lies.

Path leads to inward lake
where I will meet you
on the white beach.
And snap the waves.

Let the winds blow now
in reeds,
between cracked heels.

Satish Verma