BECOMING NOBODY

In search of a missing clock 
he went to the city of a fake encounter. 
It was irrelevant to find 
the lost tunnel. 

There was no street without a rustle. 
The sap of tall trees had bloomed 
into jaws of death. 
He stepped on a land mine 
and blew himself 
to reach the truth. 

And his gift was an 
apostate of me. 
The tenth day moon will 
celebrate my becoming nobody. 

The rivals will have 
a field day 
dancing on my shroud.

Satish Verma