It was a wake up call
in the beginning of serene numbness.
Under the veiled threat of
celebrating the kill. A path in croci;
waiting becomes a torture for a
mercury was rising on snowy peaks.
Let’s toe a shikara in the lake
to catch a reflection
of the audible silence of a frozen shoulder
A pause in psychotic burst of
unshattered false teeth
of time in full habit.
Submitted by Satish Verma.