No Strings

by Satish Verma

A fast in hurry. You
pretend that you
were dead.

The legend survives,
putting the land's blood
in the grass roots.

The tremors had started
in the blue flame. A lunatic
calls for the moon to explain.

The tides were not coming.
Watching hopelessly,
the decline of sinkers.

A watershed of humility.
The river has left the
body of water.

24-Jul-2013

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