Death Was Growing

Satish Verma

This was profanity. 
A dead club moss resurrects, 
when you sprinkle the water over 
dried wrinkled leaves. 

From darkness to light 
you break the bowl of an angel 
and the invisible spills out. 

Brother in terror - 
of mixed turbans.You smell 
the burning flesh all around. 

Speed of light from superflares 
was not colossal, than the blast of man. 
Look, it is still dark here.. 

Now climb the holy 
hills, rising like the breasts 
of weeping earth, to collect 
the daisies for final call.