Black Moon

Satish Verma

He made me move on the rough edges 
to the abyss of ‘ I ’, persuasive, but strong 
for a thrilled journey, on the snow-clad 
relationship between disquietening 
follicles of wants. 

Completely alert, still drowning in fear 
of abstract river, of fire, of nodal pain 
of self-destruction. Suicide was below dignity. 
This was annihilation of the present, past and future 
in realm of faith versus asexual love of sin. 

Only one moment was sufficient to disturb me, 
between me and my flips, between captive 
and captor. The quiet honing of silence 
for breeding vowels and petals of narcissus. 
Black moon, I always loved you.