WOUNDED FLIGHT

Instead of pain sublime in body of death 
and bracing a hailstorm of bullets 
you embrace a white phosphorus 
to burn for whole life, as a reminder of 

collective suicide. Like my lost children 
I am collecting the words to weave a phrase 
against the destiny for capturing this moment. 
The vast crowd will decide the fate of frigid winter – 

to upstage the sun. Barren trees overhear 
the wailing winds. Lake of death will outlast 
the mirage of inward suffering. Chariot of 
Apollo vaults to inconceivable height.

Satish Verma