It was dull green
under the weather,
foliage of a tall weeping Ashoka.
All day the sun had beaten down mercilessly
At night, under the shimmering shade of stars
somebody left a body of a child
wrapped in a red rag at the foot of the giant,
where the roots were jutting out from earth like a basket
to receive a birthday present.
A gift from a veiled shame.
Shutting out the breath,
a purple death by asphyxiation
A pink doll: mist draped in dew and flower.
Death was no stranger
among the saints and beasts.
Stone to stone,
stunned me.
I was discovering the life.
Satish Verma
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