Silently sulking
By lake's soothing sounding waves.
Singing beneath stars.
Imagining sinking down:
How sad it would be to drown.
There once was a guy who crafted a poem;
it’s possible that you might even know him.
It seems that he had a way with the verse;
he wasn’t the best, but he wasn’t the worst.
They’d come in a flurry, the bad and the good;
he’d try to transcribe them as fast as he could.
Inevitably, there’d be a cessation;
it seems his muse would go on vacation.
It was times like these, when the words weren’t flowing,
he decided to try his hand at rowing.
With a handle and chain instead of an oar,
he got in good shape and built up his core.
With thousands of others, he entered a race,
and managed to snag an age group first place.
He thought maybe then that he might see his muse;
the subject of rowing perhaps could be used.
Return of the linguist: on fire, on fleek!
Alas, but instead, just the paddle-less creek.
Now bound and determined to settle a score,
he’s sulking and sculling towards some distant shore.
Such a good time we had,
Then what was the need to fight,
Why did we indulge in blame game?
Was it really important to prove who was right?
I had hopes that you would let go,
But, I really didn't know,
That I had to do with this,
Yes you are missed,
The friendship I had!
I had confidence that no one can come in between us,
I had the faith in our bond,
But, waves of misunderstanding came in between,
I guess it was not that strong,
I still have a grudge against you,
You left me all sulking without any clue,
Now I don't trust any friend!
So happy we were in our space,
But, now it is the thing of disgrace,
A beautiful friendship ruined with time,
Remember the time when I called you mine,
Why did this breach of trust end?
I too don't have words to defend,
But it is all over now,
It is all over with time!
The promised apple I did not eat.
The red skin started bleeding
in my palm. Butterfly flesh
was unable to glide.
Two round, intense eyes were chasing me.
A namesake volcano
bursts open in my chest,
then I notice the flowing lava
from hungry eggs.
The earth will not conceive again.
In the backyard a blue jay
was waiting for the golden seed.
I suck a fatal tweak
in the sundrunk green.
Thirsting for the logic will never the unmade.
SATISH VERMA
The promised apple I did not eat.
The red skin started bleeding
in my palm. Butterfly flesh
was unable to glide.
Two round, intense eyes were chasing me.
A namesake volcano
bursts open in my chest,
then I notice the flowing lava
from hungry eggs.
The earth will not conceive again.
In the backyard a blue jay
was waiting for the golden seed.
I suck a fatal tweak
in the sundrunk green.
Thirsting for the logic will never the unmade.
SATISH VERMA
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