Poetry

The waves crash at your threshold.
You had given me lot of tears:
I was dying in me-

in veiled existence. I want to hear me
loudly; my secret coming,
across the book in black box.
The androgynous deity
limping back to shore.

The claws, gnawing, stretching, giving
arterial push to the dead thighs
of ailing planet. First purple, then black
gangrene appears on the toes.

Chase of wealthy robes, spilling of sperms
for sake of virility. The slicing of time
gives dividend to survivors.


Satish Verma