LEAVES

Under lip’s shadow 
dislocated in faint moonlight 
we discussed the maligned communications 

between fuming monologues 
of desiccsatd life. Sorcery was not able to 
knife the secrets of the park, branches 

and trees of memory. The game continues 
in jungle of lies, blessed by lines of murder: 
a divided loyality to have the last laugh. 

The nose-dive for inheritance inside the flesh 
lays the bones bleached white to dye 
them again in pink morale: 

I reach where I never intended to travel. 
There is no death to mourn now. Each maggot 
was ready to enter the spine of image.

Satish Verma