Blood Fruits
Beyond the sex
he was sleepwalking in shame
hiding his faith ingloriously.
A poacher in harem
of politics, where you stack the hidden
virility for killing the money.
A single mate must die
making love on screen in the vicinity
of god’s house.
The monstrous lie will
press the knife to the lips
for shedding the blood of a monk in a brothel.
If we must forget
the accidental shot,
the spring will never come to olive grove.
Satish Verma
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