Downward Spiral Poem by Satish Verma

Like pine needles,
you prick, draw blood―
doing the beauty.

Between an angel
and angelina, there stood a wall.
Ah! A religion also.

You are asked
to smear the bone ash on
forehead, and drink moonlight.

Cannibals. All the gods
were cannibals, devouring
their progeny.

You turn back and
give a last glance before
going for a faux pas.

Not a heartache―
for a faun, you were too
proud to accept the gift.