Short Ravisher Poems

Nevermore you will talk 
of the forked tongue.
The genie was out-
in the jungle of legs.

Hunger was in plain sight.
You were wary of the wild-
dogs hounding at your gate.
An augury of some spilled blood ?

Lachrymal, the soot trickles 
down from the black eyes on-
the marbled breast of a lone
survivor in the city of tombs.

Exhume you must the naked 
truth ? I will not ask the name
of the ravisher, in this crowd
of fast disappearing shoes.


Satish Verma...

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