They manipulated the words 
to cross the corridors of essence. 
Crib was empty, child was stolen. 
At blood stained altar 
there was no clue to mystical death. 

The contents now matter. Time 
displays tools of murder, 
snaps the sheet from the bed, 
kills the neophyte at water hole, 
unsucked breast swells, weeps endlessly. 

Apes are coming. 
Duplicates look brilliant like novae. 
It was becoming crowded. Becoming 
was destroying the matter. Fear 
moves in water, on the earth. 

Faraway a cuckoo sings 
a saddest song. 
Come, belong to my tears, drops 
of my soul's vessel, kiss the eyes 
of planet earth.

Satish Verma

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