Single needle lay,
pierced into the womb of a grassy flower...
Its petals - the flower - green flowing blades,
curled around the edges,
in the soggy bed.
The needle, four faced, tapering to a lethal piercing
had a rusted grassy head,
moss collecting on the fringes by date.
The smoothed head of the nail,
bald and filled with crumbs of rust,
reeked the stench,
the foul discards of an ancient crime.
The blades were alive, thriving petals
of the grassy flower...
It was the womb blackened with the rusted blood...
The tilted nail, still shone, wreathed in a wretched smile...
- Karthik Adithya Singaraju