GOLDEN LEAP

at cremation ground 
the flames were creating 
strange words 

he stood still, in void, between unfenced tears 

there was no need to question the answers, 
kicking up the history, of crossing the bridge 
over the river of annihilation 

of self, making a gift of forked tongue 
of cobra, spiteful, as an old virgin 

it was over without thinking, scribbling 
on the margin, his name in different inks 
a young smell floats an funny rocks of 

events and the fish swims in eyes of dead 
foetus in womb, with unclenched fists

Satish Verma