The Vigil

Floaters swim in acrid clouds, I watch myself killed by me, the image was real, oracular ashen grey, sitting on a sand dune I listen to the silence of bending and roaring faults, the life repeats the mistake, possessed, chasing the wheels, fever rising, the swish of a snake, time; could not make it, daintly the moon drifts on the dark contours, ripples of a lake, a flock of birds turns inland into shadows of chorus a small city of voices seeks freedom. SATISH VERMA