Without Envy

Satish Verma

This command was 
I will not accept the defeat 
from life. 

You were mending the shoes, 
of god. My vase had 
broken. This is my burden, 
I carry the body of a poem. 

Waterfalls. I stand in 
midstream. Throw my walking stick 
in flowing stream. Will heal 
the dead legs of a thought. 

The belly is full of crickets. 
No light. The unending muffled 
trill. The pebbles fall in nightmares. 
I seek the ending of blue marks. 

The air fills the lungs with your prayers for me.