THE SILENCE OF ETERNAL FLAME

you were stealing me from myself 
my mitochondria, a little under the name, 
while I was unmoored, talking to a mirror 
who did not recognize me, caked in heat and dust 
touching my tissues and blood 
under the ignited roof of the tower, 

walking with crutches to wipe the tears, 
religion, open pyres, I am still stained 
near a lantana thicket, amorous, talking 
to death, pirates grabbing the winds, 
migration of a whole waxed population 
in black air 

stalkers have a corrugated mind and 
serial killers a mournful voice

Satish Verma