Gyrations
I am lifting
your blood-soaked shirt
giving the latitude to planet
which broke the law.
The elite
wants to know, why you were
still here, when steam was rising
in golden night ?
An extended
grief overtakes the wind
in the flute. You become a free man
walking naked.
The gyres
were calibrating the magi.
An empty niche waits for a Buddha
to take the re-birth.
Satish Verma
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