Satish Verma

(5-6-1935)

BLEMISHES


Without assent
I open your book
to find your crazy god on mat.

Love was a blind bird
in a state of agony.
Learning to fly.

Moon would not reply
through aslant door.
Something was between us.

Here, now a sordid tale
breaks the taboo. They
were investing on skin.

It was a cheap wine
in a golden chalice,
for a lipless mouth.

Submitted: Saturday, June 30, 2012

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