Black Moods

I will not beg,
never. There were some mistakes.
You took a wrong turn
hitting below the waist.

It was a disaster. Asking
for the moon― for chilling.
Drugs make you unholy―
you try to whack the clouds.

I give, you take. But the
balance still remains. Somewhere
we don't meet and part with
unease of sea waves.

I am loosening the grip on me,
let go the legs to take me
nowhere. Unwrite the poem
meant for you.

Satish Verma