When I Was Killed

Corporeality cannot crop my soul in metal rust, splinters and iron nails. A blue electric needle, and the punctured blood balloon; Air bubbles escape through froth and foam, And the eyes consigned to the ritual of their sanguinary bath, are sealed in the suffused heat; they shut out the light; The flicker and the flame are destroyed. The fire and the fumes had long devoured the oriental tale of mud and mire, The smoke and the smell of burnt flesh rush in; the pain. No place for contrition or consultation, for grievance and repercussion; The salvation lies in silence, which is just a moment away…