STRANGE RELATIONSHIP

Death has been my partner, 
my best friend. 
Every day the fear, 
greets me in my bed, 
and body starts dying. 
I join the play. 
The sun clips the clouds, 
my lungs fills with aroma. 
A golden bird starts singing 
on the swaying leaves of palm. 

Death smears me with ideas, 
larger than pain 
before and after it was foggy. 
I sleep, half-opened eyes, 
watching over with face 
to the window. 
Life moves from grief to grief. 
A tiny seed pulsates 
in the crevice of mind, 
I love a view like that. 

One hundred moons 
and a dying sun. 
An immence contrast. 
Whom shall I choose as a prologue? 
I cannot tread the center 
of unborn story. The clouds 
are always crimson before 
the night. Life has 
a shadow of death – and a strange 
relationship survives.

Satish Verma