Backtracking

Leave something for me to imagine. A skeleton in a pond leaps to the moon. In an air bubble lies the history of a suspended name, wasted away on water. A war is declared on the family of words, not spoken to anguish of man. I thought of my sun averting a disaster. The sprouts will not come out of the earth. An enquiry into the nature of immanence, leads to starvation. The body of truth turns into a snake. The revolution within, shows a false victory. You start again from the ugly fingers. Satish Verma