ASH POEM

I could not take it, the fear. 
Transient flesh 
vibrant in a sunken ship. 

On a coral island 
deconstruction of a fallen window. 
Jumping on million skins. 

The level of violence was rising. 
Rebuttal will not convey 
the truth, the reality. 

A thin line of lips 
skates on the ice of power. 
In a palm grove 

I was held by music of death. 
My arms unwrapped 
around the portrait of life. 

White swellings on the knuckles 
betray the gliding priest, 
who denies the god.

Satish Verma