Fever Returns

by Satish Verma

Death will wash
the feet of truth.
Grass, where the blood spilled
has gone for sale.

A pink eye stalks
the night in dark
humility. You know
moon was rising.

A melting pot rips
apart the ghost.
Besotted I celebrate
the arrival of flames.

Thirsty, you throw the
ice cubes on the ramp.
Butterflies are going to
visit the altar.

14-May-2013

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