Too Proud
The wail fills the genesis;
you are not living in me any more.
Outside a grey mist of absence prevails.
For a while there was stillness
of white death, then roaring of a
hurricane, before it struck the ancient wall
of a levee. I started gathering my
sky, in ruins of a screaming town.
Faith was walking without legs.
Annihilation with a smile of a calender, starts;
trees and bone littered floating.
I start to understand the stalling darkness.
The human bleed now attracts the wolves
to maul, to tear, to drown
the breath of burned out spirit.
Still a cinder smoulders in debris,
to dislodge the burden of life,
for the face lift of a hanging man.
SATISH VERMA
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