Wandering Fakir

Blood splatters on walls, on earth. Erstwhile anointed idol lies broken. Thatched roof was burning. Navel crushed on the newspaper, a rape was atoned by cash award. A womb refuses to eject the ticking clock wants to preserve the window of sin. Mother do not cry for the ashen stranger he will go to the roaring sea to wash the bleeding corn, and the mouth. Salt in the eyes is hurting. Paper thin purple child becomes the player of death. Appetite of flesh for nirvana has cuddled the religion of grizzly bears. Be or not to be makes a body formless and slapped. River is waiting for the shoreline to show respect for the wandering fakir. He comes once in thousand years and crosses the dams. World will kiss his tattered toga. He wanted nothing, he gave nothing. SATISH VERMA