THE VIGIL

Floaters swim in acrid clouds, I watch 
myself killed by me, the image was real, oracular 

ashen grey, sitting on a sand dune 
I listen to the silence of bending and roaring faults, 

the life repeats the mistake, possessed, chasing 
the wheels, fever rising, the swish of a snake, 

time; could not make it, daintly the moon drifts on 
the dark contours, ripples of a lake, a flock 

of birds turns inland into shadows of chorus 
a small city of voices seeks freedom.

Satish Verma