Being Mortal Poem by Satish Verma

Oh stranger,
was I making you taller
than me, when lightning struck
both of us?

It was raw and basic
my trust in you. You couldn't
wait for my call to pursue the truth.

The light breaks
into nuts and bolts hitting
the open faith. World brings the marigolds.

Like a castway
god lies bleeding in the street.
Your agonized voice calls for the
blood siblings.

Who to spell, ararchy
of man's descent? I am scared
to find the hidden burials.

You bend down to
collect the dirt falling from bare feet.