Golden Leap

at cremation ground the flames were creating strange words he stood still, in void, between unfenced tears there was no need to question the answers, kicking up the history, of crossing the bridge over the river of annihilation of self, making a gift of forked tongue of cobra, spiteful, as an old virgin it was over without thinking, scribbling on the margin, his name in different inks a young smell floats an funny rocks of events and the fish swims in eyes of dead foetus in womb, with unclenched fists SATISH VERMA