Fangs Open

satishverma

Aghast at the― 
burning brutality and domination 
of the glaring sun, I will 
ask the moon, when will 
it release the hormones. 

A palm size, 
unscripted poem, struggles 
to come on the surface; 
pulled between the moon 
and the sea. 

The libidinal instinct, 
overtakes the activist. A newly 
minted face throws the shadow; 
equivocal. The traffic of 
poppies will freeze in the tracks. 

Here are the keys and 
there were the locks.

  • Author: satishverma (Offline Offline)
  • Published: July 6th, 2018 20:30
  • Category: Nature
  • Views: 25
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Comments +

Comments1

  • kevin browne

    Oh, this is a bit of poetic class, my friend. I understand every word and their meanings. Brilliant metaphor. Good work.



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