NO TELLING

A severed head sits upright on mud floor 
coruscating in moonlight. It was a meditating 
Buddha with eyes downcast after a perfect death. 

With indecent exposure there was no artifact 
to celebrate. The steel was rusted and the name 
erased from the asylum. 

You walk like a stranger in your home, 
possessed, in merciless purity. The greatness 
of unbeliever touches a giant guilt.

Satish Verma