Fugitive Swan

Satish Verma

a moonache levitates 
on blue lake 
you shot me at close range 

predictable encounter 
the whole truth had plunged 
between two eyes 

self flagellation 
of the waves on beach 
i was walking on marigolds 

your body becomes a flute 
when i was writing an epilogue 
on the life of a gold leaf 

it was raining on the rose 
like gnawing illicit drops 
on the upper lip of a virgin