A Bitter Fruit

To undo, the rare appearance of a god; scouring the water,before the sun, divides the land. What was the worth of a ritual, around the fallen virtues ? The salt lake threw up the broken genes. The swirling sand covers the boat, stranded on the beach. A tempest is waited upon. The gestures carry a message. No authority. I do not want to corrupt myself. There was a narrow path leading to the pink eyes. Satish Verma