Arrival Of Shrieks

Satish Verma

An image was talking to you 
in your mind. 
There were fudged voices 
of foot soldiers of half-gods. 

I was scared of synthetic leaves 
and black stars. 
It was a most explicit blood dance 
baring-all, the hiss of cones. 

You wanted to define yourself 
by overexposing the bisexual 
stain. Celibacy was 
unleaping in shadow. 

The blessings will not wait. 
You stay in coma after the haemorrhage. 
The bloodbath will find the answer 
in fever of sheer size.

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