Revved Up

It was getting dark. The insane curve of greed was rising. I would not draw the boundaries between the words. The finch was immersed in soliloquies and light was waiting inside the seeds. I open my eyes and yell at the clouds in hyperboles becoming stranger to myself. Who belongs here in slit eyes ? Each flower was leaving a blemish, for the winter. Tell me, who you are in the twist of reality. A proverb is going to be taken away. Satish Verma