GREEN NIGHT

Deep down thighs, unhoisted, 
what was there, harvesting the sperms? At dusk 
an inflorescence breaks into myriads 
of fireworks, wrecked apologia, 
interned unlikeness, insanity, kissing the goldenrod 
to start the flow of bare grief. 

I deserve no nobility, my moonscape 
has a blazing truth about a shooting star 
which went into a gape groaning. Somebody 
is done for, for a fragile skull. The riverbed 
buries the dead child in white sands. 

That lump rises again. I said, I never carry 
the death on my shoulders. Wrap up and play 
the drums for I lost the pathways to enemie

Satish Verma