Temple of Hope

Long night will start the pincer movement; pyrexia is rising. Something like an extraterrestrial hand digs deep in the mind to open the tomb to unravel the tragedy of nuts and bolts which could not fix the mutation of the hour of death. Dark blinking lashes of soul measures the cliffs of silence and then pours the hot red vermilion in parted wisdom of sky. The clang of bones again penetrates the liver. The green flaming jelly of innocent bellies. The hyacinth is choking the village pond hiding the corpses of precious flowers with green blood. One day foundation of skeletons will build a temple of hope. SATISH VERMA