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
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