Not A Renegade

Satish Verma

The summer moon with 
poetry and musk. 
I waited full evening 
to become a coherent whole. 

I wanted to quit, like 
a Buddha, not to come back 
in the baked mud house 
where the sun would not break. 

The earthen lamp with 
a flickering flame, under the 
holy basil, wants to die 
before the moonrise. 

Paralysed lower limbs 
will make you sit like a god 
on the altar, deaf and dumb. 

You don't want to learn 
about the red lips of the goddess. 
Moon was bleeding heavily. 

Sit in a lotus position. 
Sky is going to fall.