A Handful

There was peace
without scapegoats.
It was a monopoly. A prelude to a kiss
of insanity. Unzipped between foibles
and forte lies the sanity.
The path will know the sex
sans flowers.

That was the outer side of
fence in the cattle shed, where
the panther had left the half-chewed
leg of a young girl. The naked
model denies the sanctity
and starts talking aloud about the
flying insects.

It was worthless
the travesty of truth. Everybody
wants a share in mining.

Satish Verma