The Enviable

A moment of pause was needed in the eerie lull after the gathering of dreams, to enter the corridor of voices. We stopped looking through our tongues, across the bitterness of burning river, after the mud in our eyes. The black tar of the golden wood between us was smearing the family of crying pillows. All the silver was tumbling down from the stairs of calcified faces of virgins. The god was yet to be born ! SATISH VERMA