So Be It

Satish Verma

my temple, brick by brick― 
skin to skin, 
eye to eye, 
before the ascension. 

The living legend is 
dead. I cannot hear the burial 
rites. Walls are rising. 

The ashes are strewn 
on the eyes of moon. Ages ago I 
used to smile. Not now. 

Accept me, with all 
my non-gifts, dead songs and 
wailing prayers. 

My hands lift the terror 
from the sand, palm leaves 
crafting a virgin peace.