Drowned in unclogged arteries:
thoughts.
I am going to release a swarm
of bees. It was your dark hour.
A father sits outside your body to collect the stings.

A restive finger
on a blue gun invites the ghosts
to witness a burial of a fractured faith.
Thieves were waiting in wings.
A silent intimacy becomes invisible.

Sit back and comb the house
before it catches fire.
The earth spins in your eyes when you
pay the debt of a river;
when we were kneading the mountain.

Satish Verma