Death Mask

Satish Verma

It was not the worth 
of a cloud, 
your garden, sitting 
on the lake. 

Refresh drops, in the 
dry eyes of the rope, which was 
wounding around your neck 
like a snake. 

You want to become 
a blue god now, on 
opioids. A living ruin, attracting 
the tourists. 

The terrible change, 
we are dragging our dead body 
under the shadow of 
the toes.