Becoming A Totem

Satish Verma

Moon was playing
with a skylark. I give
a whistle. He ducks behind
the palm.

This was your figment
of imagination. You had
said, bring the last sound
of the forest.

I was the giver.
I am the taker.

An immaculate kiss
of the flame will decide
the destiny of bullet.

There was no distance
between the lips and
the hiss of the venomous snake.

allets's picture

Gunshot Image

Fire and bullet - an analog. ~S~