Jealous Blood

Standing on a hump, a chilled remorselessness of a shadow trauma climbs out of a sealed grotto of infinity like a vas deferens, spilling fiddled lies. You grope for your identity in griping acceptance. From the umbilical cord the pink flesh brandishes a monster. You forget the vowels in a solo monologue in a tormented accent, muffled in bleeding throat. Take my ears for cosmetic therapy, which killed my hearing. Between blindness and tidy rocks I am walking discreetly to count the digs of mysterious armless truths : disappeared in the pages of history. SATISH VERMA