Faces

by Satish Verma

You go for a daily ritual
to water a passion tree;
for greasy palms of petals of
lewd figures.

Always had a goddess
in young days,
now you are trying to find an
erogenous zone in searing heat.

It is not raining. The impact of
instant romanticism. The past
throws the virtue in vain. Terror
had been benevolent.

The beasts and flowers, endless
friendship of strippers. The holes
are widening in the sky asking
for the blasts to go for ever.

07-Mar-2013

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