Poezja

a kiss
on lips, returns with a blunt style,
in perfumed demeanor!

i did not hear
with absolute eyes, a captive
in chained feet, for self-defence;

all the shades of red
were walking on ocean,
a black skull glides:

the night fills in pores-
the gale, kills the black bucks,
poachers were on run!

in telling, the wizard
entices, you will never know
full toll of civil war:

he turns down a gift of speech;
words and whistles were surreal echoes
and I see a sword like nose


Satish Verma