Little white death laid on the table :
a pool of hushed silence.
Mother would not cry.
A mystic river flows in roaring heart
giving no relief to old wounds;
unbuttons the temper.
Purple eyes kill the black lashes.
Tears are filling the deep canyon.
A blue lake reflects the nervous face
walking on the edge.
The marbled plasma splits the crowd.
Another bell jar comes on for display;
the preserved heart, fingers and toes :
gives the birthday acknowledgments
for the sake of unrivalled life.
Copyright © Satish Verma | Year Posted 2009
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