All Prophets Fall Down

There were some ashes
in your eyes, when
you kissed a flame with
containment.

A golden phoenix
swoops down to snatch away
your signature.

Henceforth the sky will
wear the skullcap of moon,
before touching the blue lake
of silent eyes.

Why do we fight
for our insignias? The saber
dance must continue in
the morning of our doom.

The phantoms come again.
Why you were in dilemma―
to surrender or not?

After all you were my gems.

Satish Verma