Satish Verma
Snake Dance
Silence was so loud―
a pain ago, would you
resume me now,
between a scion and stock.
The sap had dried up.
A tiny human inside a pen
draws the borders
of bleeding lacerations.
Black mouths,
confront the grizzled gods.
I want them now
in water.
Suicide of a fig tree was
evident. It had eaten its
own figs. No leaves
were left now.
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