Poetry

Rains will not come to my land. 
Bisexuality starts a slut walk. 
Blackbucks were hungry. 
 
The stray dogs were barking 
at moon. Into the night goes 
the snake without any truth. 
 
Nearly over the scooped – 
protection of virginity 
against the dazzling hirsutism. 
 
Lost fortune of the flaunted 
Buddha. I have no legs 
to bow down before the pale god. 
 
This is the sex: there are 
strawberries. Have a pick 
of comets, bleeding.