Climb the Hill

By: Satish Verma

Young days start with a nostalgia
for a lost freedom
Anxiety was the prime suspect.

As the age moves on,
truth consumes the virtue.
I hold this insult
in the throes of conscience with tears.

The dreams did not last long
in the wild eyes of geniuses.
Grace and dignity fell short of sinners.
The prince of blackness strode
on the white souls.

I could not have been a witness
of paradox.
Lacked in the old books
I still wait on the highway
for a sun to climb the hill.


Share this article :

Most Read
• Windham Hill Inn- West Townshend, Vermont, by Norm Goldman
• Queen of Hill Stations (Ooty), by Vinay Choubey
Top Searches on Poetry
•  The Age Of Anxiety Poet•  Age Of Anxiety Poet