Death Was Very Genial

In the service of flesh new vision was perfecting a cult; silence was going home. It was not there freedom of defense for bread, but I must pay the price of hunger. The oblique afterthought compelled by nocturnal infidelity picks up the black threads, minute by minute. Death was very genial. Comes silently behind the cacti - across the intelligent green. One has to pay for touching greatness. The thoughts will never go from the unwinking eyes. I was listening to the footsteps. SATISH VERMA