Were you ready for a virginity test
to cross the umbrella of harpoons.
A chilled moon

will welcome you after slaying
the hot sun in the valley
of gods. A schism scoops

ignominy. Seeing the lights
which were not there. Almost
sexy, the sky pretends to unrobe.

No weeping. A Caucasian brings
red grapes for a naming
ceremony of black password,

searing the age of complicity.
A rocket propelled grenade
is going to blast a whisper.

Satish Verma