Poezja

A blacksmith exploded a missile
at point-blank
to lower the animal
in a candid manner.
So close that truth went brute.

Nativity of a patriarch
was challenged.
The birds had migrated a long distance
to find the water.
The doors remained unlocked.

An apology for the flesh. Bones
had exited long back. Sermon
was writ large on the face of moon.
Night was very black.
Aphonia was the word.

Satish Verma