Not Sinned
Were very hot, trembling thighs
like in frying pan, you sizzled
looking around for ladders.
Then you crashed on the charged
net like a mosquito, exploding
in white flame- tip,tip-top.
Pungent smoke rises,of
smoldering flesh. I was afraid
of drums, the fierce sounds.
Your song has been left behind.
Stolen piece. Love has become a
terror asking for ransom.
Living fossil. Taking it all, you did’t
deserve the garbage. The string
of wasted years.
Satish Verma
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