Theme: Life

Archives

Fear of a mound, 
tumbling down 
on the half-buried, half dead 
archives of desires, comes 
like a stampede of hoops on my chest. 
I lie alone in a desert of insanity. 

From the sea of agony 
one drop of salted tear, 
the title of a wasted life, brings 
the blood stained truth. 
I want to wash my eyes again. 

To watch the autumn leaves falling 
on impeccable stones 
for forgiveness. 
We were not the fruits. 

A song of blind water 
enters the earth 
to kiss the roots, 
foo giving liberation from 
sun leaked night.

01-Nov-2011

More By  :  Satish Verma

Views: 1379     Comments: 0


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