09 February, 2010

GREEN POND


Caked blood
on striated muscles,
you worshipped the seeds.
 
The lion roars
stirs the sleeping peacocks.
Pale skin becomes red.
 
Green and yellow mess of a matrix :
searching for an answer,
you scramble on the bed.
 
Take my sin, you said –
the penile god was not with me,
capricious as he was.
 
Community service for a condemned man,
let me take a plunge.
not for the body.
 
The glass house, mirrors on the ponds,
every wall has a door
leading nowhere.
 
Remaining a virgin for life
you are learning to swim
in a green pond.
 
 
SATISH VERMA

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