Golden Throne

There was a belief in street sense for an extended purpose of fire-eating. Shadow of past was condensing into future. The ascending serenity had pockmarks. Meeting your assigned killer, in a dark alley for forgetfulness; earth was ready to disown you and the warriors were waiting for an ambush. But you wanted to enter the no man’s land of understanding. There was a suicide from the edge of a rock. I am. Eyes were swelled with tears, washing the feet which were immersed in flowing blood. They hunted for the bones to built a golden throne. SATISH VERMA