Charisma

The caterpillar on the lawn―
in the name of god,
eating away the copper,
the blue veins of thighs.

Barefoot I come to wish
you farewell. You must stand―
in the decaying woods,
to pronounce me dead.

The auburn fawn climbs on
the podium, to mimic a birdsong.
It was sloth time. Moon was
away and it was dark.

The eagle swoops on tiny
breasts, popping up from the
nest of muse. There were no
feathers and no beak left.

Satish Verma