Suicide Note

One day you will arrive. Night will enter in your pores, in your bones, like a baby trapped in a borewell, crying, striking, thumping. On each table, salt moaned for a classical taste. A pink moon was smothered in a virgin bed. Death walked in a sensual style. A black discharge continued from the areolae. Botox failed to uplift the sagging breasts. A thallium capsule broke on tongue. There was no suicide note. SATISH VERMA