From Suicidal Angle Poem by Satish Verma

You become a crimson
dusk in a sea of greens.
The cost of the murder
had increased.

With lock and key you
can enter a new era of
misunderstandings
and misquotes.

The fertility cult skips
the gravel, catches hold
of thighs and climbs
the fame.

Healer was in great
despair. Grape seeds were
ready to sell the garden
of honeysuckles.

Oh novice, don't go alone
in the war-zone of suicide―
bombers. They were looking for
the witch in breaches.