PAPYRUS

Let me go first in the cave 
to see the hollow-eyed, bird-face, 
my ancestor, relic of reclusive 
committment, eaten by hierarchical 
grass, inch by inch. 

Calories burn to free the bones 
from the green pond, beached, skinned 
and fished alive for a weird ritual 
offering rice, flowers, tamarind and wheat. 
Bald, hungry eyes were looking at approvingly. 

I was searching unself papyrus, 
to print the tale of agonising 
travel of a small colossus, from 
night to night to track a dragging sun 
in mud and water. 

O, groaning seed, you are the paradox. 
Neither tree, nor root, only a promise 
to destroy the fear. I will wait till the next 
sun-eclipse, when you turn 
outside into inside!

Satish Verma