By: Satish Verma

In separateness the words become charity,
Worth whiff of a smoke
An illusion for living.
A question of first magnitude arises.
Why to live beyond meaning,
When death claims the text ?
There are so many voices
And matter of likes.

Compulsion to think undermines the thought.
The nostalgia of changing events.
The economy of judgement.
I persue the nature of complete cessation.
The stillness of spirit,
The birthplace of turbulence.

Shadows will rule now.
Great vision will arise from abject necessity
Only the truth will hide miserably.
I go there daily where I am not .
The earth peels off the salt.
Sky sheds the clouds.
Homeless i search for a storm.

Satish Verma

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