It Comes - Poem by Satish Verma
Waiting under the opaque moon
a primeval instinct takes over you
and you start arriving.
A black bone
renders the ash on your forehead
and you complete the circle –
reaching childhood; you start
climbing the ladder,
for instantaneous release.
The insects don’t forget the trail;
you were bleeding from inside.
You were never alone in a crowd.
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