A CENTRIOLUM

Never in those sizzling conflicts 
displaying the pink eyes 
you were able to reach me. 
Was it metagenesis, 
forgetting your selfhood? 

Fragments of a beast were floating on sea. 
Was umblicus of death broken 
in the crotch of a mother? 
Lay the corn again on my palm 
to smoulder in the heat of sun. 
Hunger will take revenge now. 

Burn, burn my truth, burn! 
I was the creator, 
and I was destroyer 
at the helm of unbuttoning coal. 

It was a black, black sky, 
where the stars were hesitant to show their 
centrioles. 

After the sun rises in a black dawn 
there will be no shocks.

Satish Verma