Green Pond

By: Satish Verma

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

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