A Centriolum

Never in those sizzling conflicts displaying the pink eyes you were able to reach me. Was it metagenesis, forgetting your selfhood? Fragments of a beast were floating on sea. Was umblicus of death broken in the crotch of a mother? Lay the corn again on my palm to smoulder in the heat of sun. Hunger will take revenge now. Burn, burn my truth, burn ! I was the creator, and I was destroyer at the helm of unbuttoning coal. It was a black, black sky, where the stars were hesitant to show their centrioles. After the sun rises in a black dawn there will be no shocks. SATISH VERMA