Leaves

Under lip’s shadow dislocated in faint moonlight we discussed the maligned communications between fuming monologues of desiccsatd life. Sorcery was not able to knife the secrets of the park, branches and trees of memory. The game continues in jungle of lies, blessed by lines of murder: a divided loyality to have the last laugh. The nose-dive for inheritance inside the flesh lays the bones bleached white to dye them again in pink morale : I reach where I never intended to travel. There is no death to mourn now. Each maggot was ready to enter the spine of image. SATISH VERMA