Lovelorn

A livid moon had started a body count for undoing a book. The base thinks it has arrived. The death zones were unconnected by quality of crime waves. People have started sitting under green trees. A social outcast silently reaches the script. It was imperative that two-edged sowrd should become sectarian. The dew, the baked blood and the blades, wait for the lifting of sorrow. The fire would crack the code of death. Do not bribe the stained linen and dyed hair. The permafrost will swallow the petrified feet. Satish Verma