Author Information
Smoking The Mirror
Folder:
Satish Verma Talking to bougainvilleas,
one day I will cut my tongue.
Why the beautiful bracts were
protecting the trivial seeds?
The flowers started clicking
to deliver a white god to a black
temple. Human shield was to
avenge the enemy beyond the infinity.
Below the ashes what were you
trying to find out in dark?
The cancer? It was eating away
the vitals of an orphaned fruit.
The predator had become the
prey, drawing the sheet of
blood on the moon. The birds
were leaving the tree.
