Choking On Words

It was past endurance. Flattened rage went into shaking palsy. He moved into sculptured dark like false reason, to defend the ankle-bone, for sequential pain. Every one seemed a fallible saint wet eyed, sitting on extinct volcano, between tickling bombs of flesh. He imagined – that he was evaporating, from the eyebaths, steadily for a spiral journey. By way of fear, he wanted to break monotony – sitting upright in a lotus position to reverse the clock, of hunger, of extreme failures - choking on words, mixing continents of hate. SATISH VERMA