DEATH OF ABSENCE

Gladioli stand in a tantric daze 
under siege of prism. The colors fall dangling, 
unsettling silent memories. 

I thought I was nervous 
while playing a smell game of wild guns, 
when tanks were rolling out on streets. 

A final farewell before exiting 
the garden, in my ceremony of death. 
A child lies down waiting for the boots. 

The wheat grass of beggers, 
never to mourn a falling cloud 
undesires a dropp of blood on tongue spilling on skin. 

A terrified leaf disturbs a mirror, 
civilized image of a private crystal, beyond 
the virulence of hiding legs.

Satish Verma