Poetry

It plays tricks. 
Rattles the animal, inside you. 
Back to back, you start giving names. 
It had happened― 
 
under his watch. Opuntia. 
It spreads like a cobra head. 
 
Prickly fruits. Represents death and bones. 
 
How the people believe you, 
when I am thirsty, 
I wanted blood. 
 
The skin becomes black. Stones 
shine in sun. You extend 
the hand to touch the mirage. 
 
No water. The black bucks 
turn around. Somebody shoots 
them between the eyes.