Despaired

nothing is left to say, the wandering cloud was bleeding for white moon, the elements, the purity, the ligaments are fake, joints are festering with fever on burntout resins ; the name floats in millions of veins, tell me the fault line of tremors, a mass burial was on way, the surge of deadly intent in this night of black spiders in eternal pursuit of murder, unpalming thousand hurts, poppies kissing the eyes of ravaged shutters, locks broken and ivory taken away SATISH VERMA