Blood Feud

Satish Verma

In moonscape, a flower 
remedy, enters the white 
smoke of your eyes. An open― 
house shuts. 

The coal writes its name on 
blue skin. We were slaves of our 
own deeds. I want to go back to 
my ancestors, to learn the clock. 

Unheard the suicide of 
a viper, eating its own venom. 
The fat people will come in line― 
to pay homage. 

White caps and black caps in 
thick silence, drink the empty glasses, 
cutting the meat of the books― 
and reading again the sky.