CIRCLE OF GLORY

Pain unites the victims. 
Discreetly, afterword, was the same. 
Only loser helped you to die instantly 
for the millions of stars. 

The shadow was a terrorist 
on the terrace. 
Wounds were flying on erected dais, 
the circle of glory was complete. 

Over the dead nurseries 
sun was kneading the earth, 
for a graying sky 
to bear the night. 

A shameful retreat 
of the weaver, of faked skin, 
when body was stained with orange bruises 
inviting the moon.

Satish Verma