WANDERING FAKIR

Blood splatters on walls, 
on earth. Erstwhile anointed idol 
lies broken. Thatched roof was burning. 
Navel crushed on the newspaper, 
a rape was atoned by cash award. 

A womb refuses to eject the ticking clock 
wants to preserve the window of sin. 
Mother do not cry for the ashen stranger 
he will go to the roaring sea to wash the 
bleeding corn, and the mouth. 

Salt in the eyes is hurting. Paper thin 
purple child becomes the player of death. 
Appetite of flesh for nirvana has cuddled 
the religion of grizzly bears. Be or not to 
be makes a body formless and slapped. 

River is waiting for the shoreline to show 
respect for the wandering fakir. He comes 
once in thousand years and crosses the dams. 
World will kiss his tattered toga. He wanted 
nothing, he gave nothing.

Satish Verma