JEALOUS BLOOD

Standing on a hump, 
a chilled remorselessness 
of a shadow trauma climbs out of a sealed 
grotto of infinity 

like a vas deferens, spilling fiddled lies. 
You grope for your identity in griping 
acceptance. From the umbilical cord 
the pink flesh brandishes a monster. 

You forget the vowels in a solo monologue 
in a tormented accent, muffled 
in bleeding throat. Take my ears 
for cosmetic therapy, which killed my hearing. 

Between blindness and tidy rocks 
I am walking discreetly to count the 
digs of mysterious armless truths: 
disappeared in the pages of history.

Satish Verma