Some Prelude

by Satish Verma

There were peels
of ripples between

the tangled arguments. Then you
start reading in the bumps;
a cold-blooded murder.

Of poems? Serrated, when

I lifted them from your bloody hands.
No miracle. The animal
survives, without water, air.

You come down the ramp
without shoes to reclaim
the heritage.

And that means, there had been
an attempt, to commit suicide!

29-Dec-2013

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