Satish Verma
Strange Dreams
The icon,
is a smoky gem,
like a random stone, hiding
a jewel.
You become an ex;
throwing the gauntlet
over the frozen
shoulder.
Everything glides
around you. I am sinking
in Bermuda Triangle.
The trembling hands
groping for―
the coral reef under the water.
The tiger will not
sleep tonight. You cannot
shut the eyes, when
I am being pit-roasted.
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