Criminality

Code of the veil was 
darkening. You were searching for an 
unwritten message in bandanna. 

Rot was setting in flesh. 
Sludge was becoming a stone 
for an unmoving stream. 

The talks had failed. 
Hand-grenades will explode in shouts 
later on, to resume the protocol of death. 

Where we are going in evening 
of woods? To go searching for the sapient 
ancestors, in city of fingers? 

Years were rolling by in fog. 
The arguments were climbing on the 
black hills to meet a drunk god.

Satish Verma