Chasing the Shadow

Drowned in unclogged arteries: thoughts. I am going to release a swarm of bees. It was your dark hour. A father sits outside your body to collect the stings. A restive finger on a blue gun invites the ghosts to witness a burial of a fractured faith. Thieves were waiting in wings. A silent intimacy becomes invisible. Sit back and comb the house before it catches fire. The earth spins in your eyes when you pay the debt of a river; when we were kneading the mountain. Satish Verma