Undraped Souls

Satish Verma

I run my own life, when 
epicenter moves to periphery. 

A drink of hemlock 
from your purple― spotted eyes. 
You want to squeeze the blue sky 
in your chest. 

Was I violating your 
sanctum sanctorum, hidden 
deep in crevices of ancient love? 

Your voice was cracking up 
hoarse, as I listened 
in silence, concealing my 
poem not to explode. 

Wings become the tongue 
flying off, like possessed 
celebration of loosing 
the glaze and becoming a naked mammal. 

A cold-blooded laugh!