Introspective

the pulsating ache of flogging after internal cave-in, a goldfish gets smeared with sperm, unclosing, opening a slaughtered canal for the drooping roses under the black wings of shame when in our translucency we were generously distributing arms to legless boys for transporting the name across the aisle of memories, the history repeats again in agony of centuries. The salt inside a name wakes up a darkness hauled up from eyes of faithfulls between the sentences and nude angels, a stroke will empty the womb of earth; i do not want to know, what will happen to shaking robots of mercy-homes, drilling the holes in walls of love ? Will the rain come again of red drizzle on the mountains, the drought had already sucked up SATISH VERMA