DISTANT VOICE

Today I will shed my body 
and meet you halfway at watery address. 
My eyes were not blinking to hold the clouds. 

To live or not to live was a great pain. 
Two small hands and two bubbling eyes 
glued to a broken wall was my hope. 
And glitter of the road, 
fallen trees, 
dead panther, 
had sacrificed my sun. 

I think I live to die daily, 
and die daily to live again 
over the enormous property of shame. 

Melting in my own blood 
I was becoming dark. 
The night was dancing on my sadness. 
Now it was me, shaking in remoteness 
of a distant voice!

Satish Verma