Golden Throne

Satish Verma

There was a belief in street sense 
for an extended purpose 
of fire-eating. 
Shadow of past was condensing 
into future. 
The ascending serenity had pockmarks. 

Meeting your assigned killer, 
in a dark alley for forgetfulness; 
earth was ready to disown you 
and the warriors were waiting 
for an ambush. 
But you wanted to enter the no man’s land of understanding. 

There was a suicide 
from the edge of a rock. I am. 
Eyes were swelled with tears, 
washing the feet which were immersed in flowing blood. 
They hunted for the bones 
to built a golden throne.