Acid filters in the cords
scathing the greens
frightens the lamb.
Tiger leaps from the bush
to make a kill,
body is cold, blue.

Ants are dragging carcass now
of dead beetle
as an act of benevolence.

White bones are jutting out of the sand,
here the beheading was done.

One rose was black, one is red
One was queen, one is dead.

Night will sweat out a moon now
who will walk like a bruised wound.

Pain is very thick like the fog
only silence will give the voice.

Obsessively you want to hold
the rags which made you rich.

Satish Verma