How Many Times

Sitting at a funeral;
in ashes,you search-
the faces of dead. To 
shut down the apostrophes.

How far was your home,
you don’t want to
go back ? A black moon
invites the tallest flare-

of the sun. Bright 
death will ask no compensation.
You can travel over half-
memories of frozen pain.

Hourglass to Kundo clocks,
you were collecting all the
souvenirs to stall the
translations from coast to coast.


Satish Verma
Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

Poem

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