A Clean Murder by Satish Verma SignUp
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Theme: Life Share This Page
A Clean Murder
by Satish Verma
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  Standing on a beam, 
shrine: 
holding a black dawn, 

my phoenix roving on dark river. 
The bell still clangs; 
I hear the footsteps. 

A weird thought 
spreads out on peripherals, 
makes holes, 

the undone communiqué 
of a war 
between knuckles; 

the blind eyes 
lift the fallen globe 
of light. 

I move from tree to tree. 
Who was left unburned? 
The sky was overcast.
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November 29, 2010
More By: Satish Verma
Views: 1158      Comments: 0




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