INWARD JOURNEY

And the lineage of existence 
does not fade. 

I try to wipe off, the heavy showers of 
death, daily. 

The pains were rising, in every word, 
in every talk. 

As part of nothingness, I was trying to find 
happiness. 

Put the shadows down, touch the questions 
again. 

The mentor wants blood, truth was in body, 
small seeds of life. 

Wrapped up, dry, cryptic, to suck at the 
fears of birth. 

You are becoming a tree, roots, branches, leaves 
against a serial killer.

Satish Verma