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