Sudden onset of an insertion
going for a kill in bluish green valley.

Pretend as if you are dead
and start disintegrating.

Your poverty of words disconnects
you from cogitation and you start-

walking in sleep. Cannot reach
the breasts jutting out like pine cones -

dismantling the invasion. You start
manipulating the seeds. Fruits

are nowhere in sight. The risk is
grave crossing the borders of virginity.

Pure aching and one thousand moons.
I have not reached the gates of truth.

Satish Verma