Ash Poem

I could not take it, the fear. Transient flesh vibrant in a sunken ship. On a coral island deconstruction of a fallen window. Jumping on million skins. The level of violence was rising. Rebuttal will not convey the truth, the reality. A thin line of lips skates on the ice of power. In a palm grove I was held by music of death. My arms unwrapped around the portrait of life. White swellings on the knuckles betray the gliding priest, who denies the god. SATISH VERMA