Defeating Death

Satish Verma

To you, I 
send my silence, 
before the fire starts, to engulf 
the open barn. 

This mourning must stop. 
I will wash your feet, of mud 
and wet grass. You have 
come after crossing the jungle of black roses. 

Tomorrow I will call swallows. 
A peacock will replace the 
ruined, plundered, silk poppies. 
The bleeding sky turns blue. 

On the road, echoes 
of greedy words will eat the smiles.