Reviled and Revered

When hunger becomes a little god. You start waiting for a miracle to happen. Like a grandfather clock, you had stopped moving. Time becomes a scoop from your ancestor’s skull. You start digging the floor for broken pins, holding the secret prayers. You watch yourself now buried in words, picking up some flowers with numb hands, waiting for the ants to come, to open the curved in, corona of narcissus. Satish Verma