Strange Phenomenon

You are brain-dead
with amnesia
in winter snow.

A frozen pulse, without blood
running, bluish-black
death.

Was death always black?
Not like supple, red poppy
leaving the stigma mark
on your white shirt?

Landing amidst the
crowd, of funlovers, there
was no exit, and I must
meet my enemy
my shore.

Satish Verma