Mourning Band
The descent starts
with a dance, of tears and fire.
A culture of lids
lowers the salt, the silver,
the gems.
Antithesis to cremate
a golden ascent.
The night long vigil had a
naked puff.
It will roll now in stasis.
The ash will take over the tongue
for a big lie. Faith healers stand
in a row. The empty hands
were getting a burial.
The toeless path will ride the
wheels now. Beyond the blue sky
there is no death.
Satish Verma
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