One Runaway Religion

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Ignite the barren clay, I need 
some rare elements 
to tie a thread to the moon. 
Upstaging the sun. 

Not aspirational he was stripped 
to become radical 
like the dark blood of a white soul. 

Pentadactylous was losing the big toes 
under the burning skies 
of unmindful eyes. The system 

was collapsing. One premature 
innocence dies defore the guilt 
was proved, in the howling night of terror. 

He unrolls the thighs to show the stitched 
corn. The seeds step out to prove 
the adolescence of crime. 

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