GRAY HANDS

It is neither end nor beginning, I am 
still suspended between punishments, primrose 
gives one answer, hollyhock another, I 
catch the moon in flight to west and 
enter a sand grain to probe the universe 

for the sexual selection of a terror bomb, 

harbinger of mass destruction, give me some 
asparagus to uproot the cancer for the sake 
of a humane evolution: bougainvilleas are 

not blooming and in twilight I wait for the two 
eyes of a panther which start blazing in a dark cave, 

she was expecting to deliver her first progeny 
of gentle cubs

Satish Verma