Cocktail

Beings of erotica were 
at the gates of heaven. 
Shell-shocked, the city was becoming political 
but people were absconding. 

It was global warming 
for obscenity. The remoteness 
was collapsing and moons 
had come in my arms. 

Smoking the serrated leaves 
and glandular hairs, hurling 
yourself on the pathway to estasy 
to forgive and to forget. 

The blue mercury was 
ascending. Anti-depressants were 
not working. You don’t own the 
phrases. Words were becoming surrogate 

for thoughts. We embrace the fall.

Satish Verma