Satish Verma
Sting's Betrayal
Not settled anytime
between a beast, an angel and the man:
who was indebted to whom.
A cyclic ritual it was, to pay the debt
to the eternal dancer, who
was, harbinger to catastrophe.
Not wanted to be judged.
Fatherless, a shadow moves―
in the womb of justice.
Why do the moon was in distress?
A catmint will improve―
your vision.
No artificial insemination was―
needed. The pungent smell
would put you off.
A taste of triangle, lying
next to the moon
in bed of water.
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