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.

Satish Verma