Wounded Flight

Instead of pain sublime in body of death and bracing a hailstorm of bullets you embrace a white phosphorus to burn for whole life, as a reminder of collective suicide. Like my lost children I am collecting the words to weave a phrase against the destiny for capturing this moment. The vast crowd will decide the fate of frigid winter – to upstage the sun. Barren trees overhear the wailing winds. Lake of death will outlast the mirage of inward suffering. Chariot of Apollo vaults to inconceivable height. SATISH VERMA