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