Satish Verma (5-6-1935)

in emptiness staying aloof
to set the wings free,
a shadow self without flesh and bones
to rip out the enormity of silence

of words, cold in the face of duality
metaphysical but of somber echo of tension
between reconciliation and deep anger
causing a long flight of fantasy

of grains sprouting after self-denial at
the turf of remembering deep, it would be
a comeback for the pelting rain on the swan -
song of a sizzling desert,

the omnivorus sanity of claws in the golden
fabric of blood caked body of a star

* On the death of Jade Goody