Between Hunger and Escape

Listening to your moans, between broken stances of naked stardust; we were afraid of each other. In midnight blue of doubts never asked for the voice; it comes on its own if you shed the pain. The hostility burns further: the hunger, in round beseeching eyes of a crawling child ; I am becoming very mawkisk. The white lies of black hair, mother will not sleep in frost of tongues. A prayer for black limbs to bend. The thing, mauls the history of beautiful tears, the chemistry of blood was changing, uncaught. SATISH VERMA