Poetry

How it is that –
at shrine while saying prayers
sex was on your mind?
You hated the betrayal and emptiness of life.
but still tuned to sweet indulgence.

And then a sudden flash back
slaps in your face,
and you want to commit suicide.

Afraid of hurting your pride
I did’t fulfil my promise of wiping your tears
in a sprint of flinching ache.

It is night now
The words have a peculiar burnt-out smell
of the road,
as if they were smouldering
in hot ashes of peace.


Satish Verma