DEATH WAS VERY GENIAL

In the service of flesh 
new vision was perfecting a cult; 
silence was going home. 

It was not there 
freedom of defense for bread, but 
I must pay the price of hunger. 

The oblique afterthought 
compelled by nocturnal infidelity 
picks up the black threads, 
minute by minute. 
Death was very genial. 

Comes silently behind the cacti - 
across the intelligent green. 
One has to pay for touching greatness. 

The thoughts will never go 
from the unwinking eyes. 
I was listening to the footsteps.

Satish Verma