The Candle In Snow

Satish Verma

An executioner 
gazes up into your eyes, 
hotting up the gazella. 

I am not an asylum seeker. 
Was it an insult 
to the animal, if I follow a sane path? 

From my side of earth, 
using different names, unflinchingly 
I will speak for the bloody truth. 

I never miss a tiger, 
even with white coat and 
brown eyes. Yellow stripes bring stasis. 

Death arranges 
the table. You pick up your dish. 
O God, I wanted to be like you. 

A stunning silence, 
again pushes me towards you. 
You always grin.