Holds Me Green

Satish Verma

The cult 
catches you 
like a black hole. 

You cannot scale the walls - 
slide back 
in a crucible. 

Like fried insects 
crisp and dry. 
Witch-hunt starts. 

Sky was blue 
in eyes, 
winds will divide the space. 

Do you need a mediator 
to read between the lines? 
To cross the fence? 

Who sucked me dry? 
Who leeched me white? 
Death holds me green!