satishverma

BLOOD DRAPED

It was coming up, the politics 
like dirty sex 
in tall Parthenium grass. 

The panther was hiding on a steppingstone 
watching the hot, field hockey 
played with skulls of peers. 

Mauled, the peach skin was 
entertaining sunlight in 
the metaphoric village. 

Prisoners of false ceilings, 
we sing the anthem with 
the crowd of wolves.

Satish Verma