Kissing Gods

When we slept through our naked loops, there was a silent call. Moon was out walking on the street peeping through the glass window, the crossed legs. Trees were meshed up in dark. Do you know the impropriety of leaves, climbing on each other? Dogs inbreeding? Incestuous in camera. The elixir of life. Recycled urine. We were not crying. It was the urgency to die to challenge the infinity. We get paralysed. Our legs will not move on fallen skulls. Blood was everywhere. The terrorists on terrace, negotiating for a massive ransom. This interwar was wholesome. The hysterical confusion breaks us apart and morgue was full of kissing gods. SATISH VERMA