A Life's Worth

Satish Verma

The brown dust― 
floats, while reading 

It was my first― 
love with the dancing words 
in the jungle of departures. 

The genocide of― 
reliefs. I erect a shrine 
for the slaughter of unknown. 

Innocently, I utter― 
your name in dark, that 
lights up the aubade. 

Strange things happen. 
I stand where the roads don't cross 
parting the emptiness. 

The deadpan. Another city falls.