Poetry

O flamingo, your pink is fading.
Pick up the spirulina, it was caste-based.
It hits there, where it hurts more.

You were chasing, standing on one leg
salt was dwindling in the lake.
The stink unlike you is going to stay.

I am learning the hard way, the
blue island of ice is staying with a thread.
A sweet flesh comes from the mountain from other end.

Whose gold was melting now?
Sucking the milk tinged with blood?
Breasts are shrivelling in monoxide.


Satish Verma