WANDERER

It was a taxidermal view 
thousands of fawns on the lake. 
Can you handle the die-off 
of the whole truth? 
I have nowhere to go. Genes are 
turning on, turning off. Bare hands 
holding the bruises. 

Hungry, but cannot eat 
looking at the tattoos on the back of 
starving children. 
I am sick these days in the midst of glory 
and shame. Faithlessness is a prize 
wrapped by shadows. The snakes 
are climbing on the walls. 

Human things, like chimps 
kissing and hugging to calm down. 
in memoriam of a lost tribe. 
The body of a chaste god 
lies buried under the debris of unholy secrets. 
Homeless I wander, beneath the high sky.

Satish Verma