An Unasked Eulogy

Satish Verma

It will come back to you 
again and again― the thought 
nudging through the magnolias. 

Without telling you― 
the creamy pink― waxy smell of 
the death of the guiding light. 

I am lost anew 
at the center of conflicts 
between earth and moon. 

The unspoken pain 
of the aroma undrafts 
from the fragrant words. 

Life folds the hands 
at the chest before cracking open 
the yawning chasm. 

I touch you without any meaning. 
No eyes. No ears― miming 
secretly the footfalls of shadows.