Drift Ice

Satish Verma

Absurdity was waylaid 
like a black swan on the 
grass shaking a leg. 

A child walks through me 
antithetical to scorched life 
of parallel egos. 

Austerity was neither present 
nor absent.Volcanic ash 
was spewing on recti. 

It was drifting, the snow bound 
killer, spilling the blood in sea. 
Home was still for away.

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