ONLY BEING

Walking the path with otherness; 
not achieving anything, 
I, condemned, to remain solitary, decline 
to join the gods of a crowd. So that 
my sun, remains shadowless. 

No, it is not the final verdict. 
I was always incomplete, unburdening 
my cipher, failing against the blood 
that demanded uninterrupted flow, blending 
right and wrong. My words were too much 

to say No. The melting snow remembered 
the names of the trees. On the breast of 
earth a signature theme plucks the 
grass to make way for the rose beds. This 
makes no secret of betrayal. 

Less prudent, I blunder, try to untie myself 
from future, and become little me, playing 
with the mask of present, carrying my blankness 
to become hungry again, for the knowledge 
which was never my fatal being.

Satish Verma