SCARF ON HEAD

Tangled clues 
with sensuous sparring; 
the incense was rising from the blue moon. 

It was body’s integrity, 
a lender was demanding 
when lust had become prodigal. 

Behind the thin veil, red eyes 
stared unblinkingly 
at the portrait of a nude zero. 

When the light was nodding from a crown 
the darkness spat on the feet 
which walked on the roses. 

A single thorn will not be envious 
of the licking fingers. 
A dropp of blood will tell the truth. 


Satish Verma