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The Candle In Snow
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Satish Verma An executioner
gazes up into your eyes,
hotting up the gazella.
I am not an asylum seeker.
Was it an insult
to the animal, if I follow a sane path?
From my side of earth,
using different names, unflinchingly
I will speak for the bloody truth.
I never miss a tiger,
even with white coat and
brown eyes. Yellow stripes bring stasis.
Death arranges
the table. You pick up your dish.
O God, I wanted to be like you.
A stunning silence,
again pushes me towards you.
You always grin.
