BLANKSCAPE

Chasing the embedded sex of the moon 
you torched the sun 
by the stares of dead 
and turned yourself into a stone 
of steps. For survival? 
I knew the gravel, the water 
therefore cried inside. 

Navigating in swathes of tristesse 
makes you insane. Let us split the god 
open, and find out the meaning of life. 
The missed beats demand more blood, more 
slavery. Bivalent limbs become untrue 
to heart. I was late in coming. 
You too!

Satish Verma