satishverma

SUBSTANTIAL SHADOW

Walking on dead leaves covering the grass 
to and fro, to and fro in solitude, hiding 
behind the mask, pithy face, ideas rebounding, 
a loaded eloquence, opening a diaglogue with self, 
quietly bleeding inside. You are hearing 
the sounds of winged carnivores who had been 
devouring your brain cells. The time is ending, 
death has no relevance, no respect for the survival, 
insulting the existence, anguish overtaking 
the joy of new born, lifted by a fog. 
We are reciting the hymns now, lighting the lamps 
to see the stains on the walls. The bronzed 
sculpture refuses to come down from the pedestal, 
afraid to go to a warehouse, to the lonliness. 
A shadow moves away from the light, makes its own 
length and buries in unconsolable sadness. 
Pure eyes in which float the tears of million people. 
Dying lips will always narrate a tale of abandonment, 
will not be able to say adieu.

Satish Verma