IN MAKING

Spurred the kerosene 
to burn the logistics. 
I had moved on untrodden snow 
of tanned gifts. 

There was no tomorrow for me, 
living from moment to moment. 
The warships 
had moved into positions. 

Adoring the monotheisn, I still 
loved many angels, you were 
making many moons for me. 
Breathless I was running after gold rings. 

Terrible, the bell breaks my ankle 
and the anklets emit the trembling 
moons. Let us go out on the lake 
I have many scores to settle.

Satish Verma