ABSURD FLIGHT

Rain of victims. 
Crossing a parched field 
a summer moon was laughing 
like a naked lie. 
I intend to lie in state, 
no grass was going to cry. 

A red spot was growing 
on your chest. 
Were you shot in heart? 
Creeping, they want to put the sandal paste 
on the dome. 
I walk waist-high between 
the kneeling heads. 

Who were the inmates of the 
black house, 
which was so sexy? 
I do not mean anything, over the head 
a kite was flying.

Satish Verma