Turning Gray

by Satish Verma

You wanted to understand
the tenor of wet, heavy lids
that had emigrated from
deep oceanic eyes.

You believed it will go on
for ever. Roused in peace.
I will listen to the voice of river
lapping at the shores of pain.

Cocoon was lying still, will
not open to us. I was ready
to receive the death at door.
But it was a stripteaser.

The lovers will meet in the
wilderness, ride the lioness
and black berries will go to
moon for the payment of wages.

16-Mar-2013

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