Sudden onset of an insertion
going for a kill in bluish green valley.
Pretend as if you are dead
and start disintegrating.
Your poverty of words disconnects
you from cogitation and you start-
walking in sleep. Cannot reach
the breasts jutting out like pine cones –
dismantling the invasion. You start
manipulating the seeds. Fruits
are nowhere in sight. The risk is
grave crossing the borders of virginity.
Pure aching and one thousand moons.
I have not reached the gates of truth.
Satish Verma
